Blood Runs Thicker
by iamCAMBRIA
Summary: One little hobbit makes the biggest mistake of his life when he wanders a bit too far away from his parents. But how could he have possibly known it would also be the best thing he'd done in his life? He learns that family isn't just looks, its also blood; that blood runs thicker than water.
1. Chapter 1

**Blood Runs Thicker**

Chapter 1:

The bees were abuzz as they bumbled nonchalantly from flower to flower. Starlings and thrushes flitted in and out of the trees that surrounded the beautiful scenery. Rabbits and other fluffy creatures darted in and out of holes hidden underneath brilliantly painted foliage. There were swaying pansies, flirting periwinkles; twinkling morning stars and roaring dandelions. This was Hillington Meadow; a charming little place marking the middle point between Bree and the Shire.

Why is this place so important, you may ask? Well, my dear readers, this is where our story begins. A story of a little hobbit who made possible the biggest mistake of his life and turned it into the best thing that ever happened to him.

Belladonna Took Baggins walked hand-in-hand with her husband Bungo Baggins and their five year old son Bilbo. Bungo had decided to take his family on holiday at Hillington Meadow in celebration of spring. To the gentle hobbit, this spring had been the finest he'd yet to experience and he'd just been itching to go and enjoy the crisp beautiful weather. Of course Belladonna had been dying to come to the Meadow for an entirely different reason. While her husband wanted the weather, she wanted the freedom. Ever since their son had been born, Belladonna had not been on any adventures—for good reason too—and as much as she loved her family, Belladonna hand longed to leave the Shire for a little bit. So she had practically clobbered Bungo in her excitement at the news of a holiday.

And Bilbo, wherever his parents wandered, he always came too.

Speaking of the little tike, he pulled away from his mohter's grasp at the sight of the meadow. With an excited little squeal, Bilbo ran towards the flowers with quick feet and all smiles Belladonna and Bungo sighed contentedly and shucked off their traveling packs. Oh, yes, they were going camping.

Although Bungo was a respectable hobbit in every aspect, he felt that it was necessary for his son to get the experience. After all he was a Took as well as a Baggins. As much as the other Baggins in his family hated to admit it—Bilbo needed the influence of both his families to be complete. Belladonna certainly didn't want her little explorer to forget the ways of adventure, and Bungo didn't want his boy to forget that he needed to be polite and prompt like every other Baggins before him.

"Papa! Papa, look what I found!" the little hobbit shouted.

Both Bungo and Belladonna looked up to see their over exuberant son trundling back to them. Bungo walked up to his child, bare feet molding against the dirt ground perfectly, and crouched down when he reached Bilbo.

"What'dya find lad?" He grinned.

Bilbo opened his cupped hands to reveal a small, round, baby blue rock.

Except it wasn't a rock.

"Hm," Bungo drawled slowly. "Where'dya find this Bilbo?"

"By the tree!" He cheeped out happily while pointing to said tree.

Bungo grabbed his son's hand and began to walk.

"Where we goin' Papa?" Bilbo asked, his tiny brow furrowing in confusion.

"What'dya think you're holdin'?" His father asked.

"A rock."

"It's not a rock."

"S'not?"

"No."

Bilbo was quiet for a second, a small glint of panic crossing his normally merry features. "What's it?"

"An egg."

Bilbo seemed to jump out of his breeches. "An egg? Like a birdy's egg?"

Bungo chuckled. "Yes laddie, like a birdy's."

"Oh." The five year old bit his lip and looked guiltily at anything but his father; he still clutched the egg as if it were a precious jewel.

"Don't worry Bilbo," Bungo said, trying to wipe the perfectly heart breaking look from his son. "You didn't know any better. We'll return the egg to its momma's nest before your Mama calls us for supper."

Bilbo nodded.

Once they got to the tree, Bungo realized that the tree was not as short as he thought it was. In fact, the nest—it was clearly visible in a safe crook of a branch—was way up off the ground.

"Well…" the father sighed, looking up at the tree and back down at his feet. He pointed to the tree, then himself, and then the overgrown plant. _Well this is problematic,_ he thought.

A crystalline laugh came up from behind them. Both father and son turned around to see brown haired Belladonna laughing their ears off.

"You haven't even climbed the tree yet and you're thinking of quitting!"

Bungo's ears turned red. "S'not true! I was just…checkin' the distance, that's all. I don' wanna accidently slip and break something."

Belladonna rolled her eyes and strolled up to them coolly. She reached out her hand as she crouched down to Bilbo's height. She gave him her best smile.

"Come on now sweetie, give Mama the egg."

Bilbo plopped the pale blue egg in her hand without hesitation. Belladonna shot Bungo a smug playful look before bounding up to the truck of the tree. As easily as it might have been climbing up a hill, she scaled the tree like a squirrel. As she reached the proper branch, she laid herself on her stomach on said limb. With precious and care so as not to disturb the other eggs, she plopped the other into the nest. With a smile, she looked down at her husband and son.

"It's not so high, when you're actually up here that is." She laughed.

"Yes, well, all the same—get down here dear." Bungo fretted.

Belladonna laughed. "Then catch me."

With that, she rolled off the branch. Bungo just barely had time to drop his son's hand and reach out for his falling wife—a glory of fluttering hair and skirts like a fairy. He doubled over at the sudden intake of weight, but fixed himself not long after. Belladonna grinned at him like a mad man.

"That was like some ridiculous trust exercise or something, huh?" She grinned ear to ear.

Bungo tried to give his best expression of being terribly upset. "I'll go with or something."

"Blustering birches, don't be such a worry wart." Belladonna teased with a pleased grin.

Her husband shot her a look. "Your language dear."

"He doesn't know what it means."

"Exactly all the more reason why he'd repeat it."

"Hm, I don't see your point."

"You never do."

"I do to."

"Hm…sometimes."

"Yes, sometimes."

Bilbo grinned up at his mother and father. He was so proud to have them as his parents. He loved them with all his little heart, and he would do anything for them.

"Mama! Papa! Can we go play?" He asked eagerly, hoping dearly that they would say yes.

Bungo nodded, allowing that Baggins side of him ease up a bit. "How 'bout we play a game of tag."

Bilbo's eyes widened and before they knew it, he took off across the meadow, his big hobbit feet carrying him silently. Bungo laughed and took off after the child—the youngling had learned early that if he wanted to escape his father from tag, he needed a head start. Belladonna just shook her head and ran after the two. Despite being the most adventurous out of the two, both Bungo and Bilbo were faster than her—by a lot.

After an hour of hollering, screaming, and laughing, they all settled down to have supper. Belladonna had cooked up a great fire and now sausages were cooking over a campfire in a cast iron skillet.

"Smells good!" Bilbo squeaked, leaning back on his palms.

"Yes, it does, doesn't it?" Bungo agreed, glancing at his wife with pride.

She just shot them both her award winning grin. Grown Men had swooned for her smile. She was just glad Bungo had too; that hobbit had been such a stickler when they first met. It was a wonder he had asked her to court him at all.

"So, what do you want to do after supper?" Belladonna questioned, setting the skillet on the ground so the meat could cool a bit.

Bilbo reached out immediately but stopped when Bungo grunted disapprovingly.

"You know what happens lad."

Bilbo's lips puckered until his face became distorted with a pout.

Belladonna laughed. "Go ahead Bungo, if this little burglar wants to burgle a sausage before its ready, then by all means let him."

"Bell—"

"Bbbuuunnnnggggoooo." She whined annoyingly with the wink of an eye to follow.

Bungo rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, but nodded to Bilbo. The little hobbit didn't hesitate and his arm darted out as soon as the approval was given. As his fingers curled around a piece of meat, his yanked his hand back a small his coming from his throat.

"Hot!" He cried out, little tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"Nuh-uh. No tears Bilbo Baggins." Belladonna reprimanded with a grin. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

Bilbo only pouted more.

Bungo gave a soft smile. "I know what we should do after supper. Let's take a nap—Bilbo is tired and I'm too. Sleeping in this meadow seems like a grand idea."

To Belladonna, it sounded like anything but grand. Someone would have to keep watch while they were asleep. Being that Bungo was planning sleeping, that meant she would be keeping watch. Her husband caught the weary look in her eyes.

"Bella, come on. You're just as tire as the rest o' us. You'll enjoy the rest."

"We can't all sleep Bungo." She pointed out.

"What's an hour of us all sleeping?"

• • •

"Admit it! We're lost!"

A raven haired dwarf looked up to his bald companion.

"We are not lost, Dwalin. I simply took a shorter way to Bree."

The bald dwarf—Dwalin—snorted. "As if. We all know ye've got a lousy sense o' direction Thorin. Ye'd get lost ta yer front door if it weren' for Dis."

It was Thorin's turn to look offended. "If it is all the same to you, I can reach the front door just fine."

"Sure ye can laddie, that's why Dis helps ye out o' the Blue Mountains every time we leave."

"Be quiet."

"Make me."

Thorin gave a grin before tackling the much larger dwarf to the ground. It was a rare moment that he was ever this open and playful, but there was much reason to be joyous. It was the first time in months that he had been able to find a job. He had earned much coin from the trading caravans in Ered Luin, and his sister had announced that she was pregnant. Nothing made him feel happier or more nervous than the thought of being an uncle to Dis' child. But it mattered little to him. He was currently covered in head to toe with dirt, while Dwalin's just growing beard was matted with mud. He was lucky that his own beard was small and short enough to be braided into a single plait.

"Alright, alright ye win!" Dwalin barked out, shoving the raven haired dwarf off him.

Thorin sat up and straightened out his blue tunic. "And do not forget it."

Dwalin snorted.

Thorin reached out and picked up his fur coat and dusted it off. He picked up Dwalin's fur vest as well and tossed it to the taller. Dwalin grabbed it, grumbling the whol while. As Dwalin reached down to pick up his dropped traveling pack, Thorin got a good view of the dwarf's tattooed head. He wondered what had led his friend into making that decision. Many dwarves tattooed themselves yes, but none had ever done so on the head. Even for a dwarf, the head was a far delicate piece that should not be tampered with.

But Dwalin had.

And he intimidated every single Man and dwarf at the sight of his blue khuzdul tattoos. It was truly a terrifying thing to behold—a grizzly young dwarf with blue menacing ink all over his head. It scared pretty much everyone except Dis.

And Thorin himself of course. After Anzanulbizar, hardly anything scared him. It had been over thirty years, but still the battle to reclaim Moria scarred his mind.

"Thorin!" Dwalin shouted.

The raven haired dwarf looked up at his friend. "I'm sorry, were you saying something?"

"Sure choose and pick the times ta listen ta me." The other dwarf taunted, shifting his shoulders as he hauled his pack up.

"I truly was not paying attention." Thorin amended. "I am sorry. What were you saying?"

"I was sayin'," Dwalin growled with exasperation, "that we need ta find a place ta camp soon. The sun'll be setting in an hour or so."

Thorin nodded. "Very well. I imagine we won't arrive in Bree until tomorrow. Let's go until the sun sets."

They both then set off, their feet marching in synchronization and tandem. Well wasn't that a sight? To anyone else unaware of both dwarf's history, they would have found it odd and extremely talented to be able to walk like toy soldiers. But to Thorin and Dwalin, it was a painful reminder. A memory that they had been trained to fight and had seen battle.

They walked for as long as the sunlight permitted them, which was as Dwalin predicted: an hour. With the dusk creeping in, the two dwarves set down their packs and started a fire. With a bit of exhaustion, for they had been traveling for over a month now, they laid out their bedrolls and sat onto of them.

"So, what do ye wish fer dinner?" Dwalin ask sarcastically. "There's jerky, and jerky, and perhaps a lovely touch o' stale biscuits."

Thorin gave a throaty chuckle. "I suppose some jerky and a biscuit will suffice for now."

"I'm glad I could meet your highness' expectations." Dwalin snarked, reaching into his pack and pulling out his food.

Thorin grew serious. "You have not toyed with my title like that in a long time."

"There's a first time fer everything." The tattooed dwarf grunted.

Thorin remained frowning.

"Ye will be restored ta that status." Dwalin rumbled, handing Thorin the food.

Thorin sighed. "It has been many years since I have laid eyes upon our homeland. It is hard to believe your words."

"True as that might be," the big dwarf admitted, "I can feel the truth in my words. It will happen someday."

"One can only hope." Thorin nodded, beginning to eat.

They ate silently, the only sound was them tearing into the food ravenously. If one were to observe them, it would be thought that they hadn't eaten in days. But such was the eating habits of dwarves. Messy, rude, and extremely noisy. When they had finished, both friends gave sighs.

"I almost wish we were in Bree, if only fer the food." Dwalin snorted.

Thorin coughed out a laugh and laid down on his mat. His blue eyes stared up at the stars, watching the twinkling lights. How often he would watch the stars and think of all the jewels in Erebor. The sleeping jewels that laid helplessly and uselessly under a slumbering dragon. The thought made him angry.

"So," Dwalin barked out. "I'm thinkin' yer thinkin' about the recent conversation that Dis held with ya."

Thorin turned his head to his friend. Dwalin was laying on his own bed roll. His hands were clasped over his chest, he too looked up at the stars.

"And what conversation might this be?" Thorin asked moodily.

"The one about ye getting' married."

Thorin pursed his lips.

_Ah, that one._

"No, I'm not thinking of such thoughts."

Dwalin chuckled. "Could've fooled me. I would've bet my best axe that ye were broodin' on the thought of settlin' down and the like."

"What makes you believe I do not wish to have a family?" Thorin asked, his left eyebrow raised skeptically.

Dwalin still searched the stars. "Ye gave Dis that exact same look that ye had a moment before, when she had told ye ta go meet a nice dwarf lass."

"Ah."

"Well?"

"Well what? I was not thinking about marriage."

"So ye're not interested in marryin'?"

"That is not what I said."

"Ye were thinkin' it."

Thorin let out a loud guffaw. "For the love of Mahal, Dwalin! My personal life is my own!"

Dwalin chuckled and closed his eyes. "Very well, Thorin. But expect me ta pester ye tomorrow 'bout the subject."

Thorin rolled his eyes. "Good night Dwalin."

"Night."

Thorin moved to sit up. He would have to take watch since Dwalin was asleep. Getting up off of his bed roll, he went and sat on a stump not too far from the fire. With the patience of someone who had lived eighty three years, he watched the black landscape attentively. Although, his thoughts had brought him to feel in a singing mood. He had never quite dropped the dream that he would one day be a bard.

A small smile tugged on his lips as he began to sing.

"_Far over the misty mountains cold.  
To dungeons deep, and caverns old  
We must away, ere break of day  
To seek the pale enchanted gold._

The dwarves of yore made mighty spells,  
While hammers fell like ringing bells.  
In places deep, where dark things sleep,  
In hollow halls beneath the fells.

For ancient king and elvish lord,  
There many a gleaming golden hoard  
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught  
To hide in gems on hilt of sword…"

He paused and allowed his thoughts to take over him. How he longed for the comforting halls of Erebor. The happiness of dwarves, the safety the stone walls provided him. How he missed his home.

• • •

Bilbo looked up and realized that the night had already given way. The stars were shining brightly, lighting up the entire meadow in silver light. With a few years of practice to support him, the small hobbit wiggled out of his parents loving embrace. It was night time! And there was starlight! It was the perfect time to look for fairies!

Tiptoeing quietly away from Belladonna and Bungo, Bilbo broke into a run as soon as he got away from his parents hearing distance. With an excited grin, and a twinkle of mischief in his eyes, Bilbo began to look for fairies. He searched everywhere; under rocks, between flowers, in tree holes, under roots, behind rocks and so on. He was about to stop his search and head back dejectedly to his parents when he heard a faint tune. It was so soft and low that he almost didn't hear it. But his sharp little hobbit ears picked up on the gentle song.

"_For ancient king and elvish lord,  
There many a gleaming golden hoard  
They shaped and wrought, and light they caught  
To hide in gems on hilt of sword…"_

Bilbo felt shaken. The song was so sad, and so deep. He wondered what poor creature would even sing such a melancholy song. Perhaps it was one of those tricky fairies! Perhaps they were in trouble. He would save them! He was a brave explorer! He would find them and their sad song.

Not even thinking about the repercussions, for the five year old was stubborn minded and well…a five year old, set out in the direction he had heard the song. The woods were dark, but he wasn't particularly afraid. There were no mean animals in the Shire to harm him, and anyone who lived in the Shire was trustable.

It wasn't until he began to get sleepy, when he realized that he had gone a bit too far. He hadn't meant to, but Bilbo had wandered far in his search for the fairy and or fairies in their song. And now…

He was lost.

Telling himself that his Papa would want him to panic, he looked around in the dark. The faint glow of moon and stars helped him a bit as he searched for a sign of his parent's camp. It didn't take him long to find it. A small glow of fire light.

With a relieved breath, Bilbo ran towards the light. He was sure his parents weren't awake yet and maybe he wouldn't get in trouble. Maybe they would want to take another nap! He was tired now. He wanted to sleep.

As he approached the fire he realized that there was something off. There were two people crouched around the fire, but they were too tall to be his parents. He slowed down as he entered their camping circle. They were fall too tall to be hobbits. But he recognized them immediately for they both had horses.

Men.

He whimpered and went back to turn around when the one closest to him turned around. The man had beady green eyes and a shriveling tallow beard. He was close to bald save for the five wiry hairs that sprouted from the crown of his head. He smiled at the Halfling child—his mouth was missing several teeth and a good handful of the ones that were still in their positions were black.

"Hullo there! Jed, look what we got!" He explained. "It's a Shireling!"

This 'Jed', who looked almost identical to the first, except maybe a bit nicer looking—he had an actual full head of the same spoiled yellow hair—smiled.

"Well, looky at that." He grinned. "You've seem to have lost your way boy. What are you doin' all the way out here. A mighty far way from Hobbiton."

Bilbo nodded.

"Well speak up lad!" The first was stated loudly. "Tell us why you're here and not in your cozy little bed."

"Don't press him Lin." Jed barked back.

'Lin' glared at the other man.

Jed ignored him. "Well Halfling? Why are you here?"

"Lost." Bilbo finally squeaked out. He was more than scared about these men. Something was off about them.

Lin blinked, a cruel smile curling on his lips. "You're just a little one, eh?"

"I'm not little!" Bilbo protested indignantly. "I'm five!"

Jed raised his arm to keep the other man from speaking. "Mighty grown up you are then. But that doesn't stop us from your problem. You said you were lost? You would happen to be the child of two older hobbits?"

Bilbo didn't stop to think about the stupid question. It was so obscure and ambiguous that if he had been thinking clearly, he would have noted something suspicious. But he was more than ready to get back to Belladonna and Bungo.

So he nodded.

Jed got up and walked over to the little hobbit. "Well, you're in luck boy. I know exactly where your parents are. Do you want me to take you to them?"

Bilbo nodded again.

Jed turned and looked at Lin. He gave him a grin and a wink. So they didn't have to travel all the way to hobbit after all. The boss-man would be happy. He turned back to the boy and held out his hand. Bilbo grabbed onto and Jed led him across the camp to one of the horse. He wrapped both hands around the hobbit's waist and lifted him up onto the horse. Bilbo grabbed anxiously to the horse's mane. He didn't like heights. Jed mounted right behind him, arms around him like a fence.

"You all good boy?"

Bilbo gave a curt nod.

Jed gave a click of the tongue and dug his heel into the horse's side. The creature took off immediately. It was a matter of minutes before Bilbo realized something was wrong. They should've found his parents by now. They were going far too fast to not be there already—even a five year old could know this.

"You're not taking me to Mama and Papa, are you?" He whispered quietly.

Jed smiled in a maniac way. "No."

So Bilbo did the most logical thing he could think of.

He screamed.

Thorin was up in a second, he knew he had heard a scream. Dwalin had heard the noise too, because the slumbering dwarf was up in a matter of seconds, his axe tightly gripped in hand. Thorin's hand rested slightly on his sword. They waited for another sound. They got one, but this time the noise was cut off before it was finished. With a nod to the other, they both took off running in the direction of the scream.

It wasn't long before they heard the clopping of a speeding horse. Thorin shivered. He wouldn't admit it, but he hated horses. As they got closer, the hoof beats got louder. It wasn't until they had to move out of the way for the horse to pass when Thorin realized that the people on the horse were the source of the sound. To anyone else, a man carrying a child on his shoulder, who rode a speeding horse, might think the child was ill or sick. But not to Thorin. That man had a disgusting look himself as he rode by. It was then that the child looked up.

Pointed ears.

Round green eyes.

Ashy brown hair.

And big, furry feet.

That rider might have been a Man, but the child was not. Thorin didn't know what business the man with the child but it wasn't any good. As soon as the child saw Thorin, he opened his mouth.

"Help!" He yelled in terror.

Thorin didn't hesitate. With precision and years of practice, he took his sword and hurled it—he hoped that the strength of his strong blacksmith arms would be enough to close the growing distance between them and the Man. It did.

The horse crumpled to the ground. The Man went down with his horse, a sickening crack coming from his body, and the child went sailing through the air and into the woods. Then there was quiet. Thorin feared he only made the situation worse. He turned to Dwalin.

"Go the direction he was coming from. I will search for the child. The Man does not move. He and the horse are dead."

The large dwarf ran from him with hesitation through the woods. The horse tracks were easy to see in the strange light of the night sky. By the time that he had come to the end of the tracks, there was a man sitting on a bed roll, cleaning a knife that had an ominious blood stain. That didn't sit well with him.

The Man regarded him with surprise.

Dwalin cut to the chase. "Ye probably are friends with the one who was ridin' a horse back there."

The man gave Dwalin a cocky pointed look. "What of it?"

It was too quick for the man to time, he had his hands around the Man's throat in seconds.

"Where are the parents o' the child ye lot kidnapped?" He demanded furiously.

Lin smiled. "Dead."

Without hesitation, the dwarf snapped the Man's miserable neck. Good ridance.

Meanwhile, Thorin was having some trouble. The young child had scrambled as soon as he fell. He scurried up a tree as skilled as an elf and Thorin wondered if he was. But he put all thoughts aside as he saw that the child was not as slender as elf childen. But he was a human either. So what was he?

"You can come down." Thorin called up. "Those Men will not hurt you."

"I know." The child snapped back.

"I will not harm you." He assured.

"Liar."

Thorin blinked, feeling more than offended. His voice hardened, becoming deeper as he grew angry. "I am many things youngling, but I am not a liar."

The child did not reply for a little bit. But then he finally spoke. His voice quiet and soft.

"You." He whispered.

The dwarf cocked his eyebrow. "What?"

The little hobbit opened his mouth chirped out a shrill line of song. "_To hide in gems on hilt of sword."_

Thorin recognized the song immediately. "You heard me singing?"

"I was looking for fairies." The little boy admitted sheepishly.

Thorin blinked and allowed his facial expression to soften. "Come down, I promise on Mahal that I will not harm you."

"Who's Mahal?"

The raven haired dwarf sighed. Looking at his hand, he realized he still held his retrieved sword. Nodding, he threw it off to the side. With a gentle smile he glanced up at the boy.

"I am no longer armed. You need not worry about me hurting you."

"No."

Thorin growled in frustration. This child was insufferable! It mattered not. He could wait until the child was ready. He would settle himself with questions on the boy himself. He had never ran into a creature quite like him.

"If you do not mind me asking, what are you?"

The little child gave an offended gasp and came sidling down the tree. Well, that didn't take long. Perhaps this boy was vain. But when the boy landed on the ground, he realized how small he was. The boy barely reached his knee! So, for the child's own sake, he crouched down so they could see eye to eye.

"Imma hobbit!" He squeaked out.

Thorin smiled a bit less amiably than he planned, but it would have to do. "Well then, Master Hobbit, I am Thorin Oakenshield."

Then Bilbo puffed out his chest and fiddled with his suspenders, just as he had seen Papa do it.

"I'm Bilbo Baggins, of Bag End." He declared proudly.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Belladonna woke with a start, her eyes blinking the bleariness out of them. Something was wrong. First thing she noticed was that it was night—they had slept too long. Second thing she noticed that there was an empty spot between her and her husband. Her hear dropped. Bilbo.

She shot up in her seat and turned to face Bungo. Indeed, the spot where Bilbo had been asleep was empty. Belladonna smacked the other hobbit's arm.

"Bungo, get up." She hissed.

Her husband turned over, and looked at her groggily. "Bella? What?"

"Get up Bungo. Bilbo is gone!"

The male was up in a second, Belladonna following him. They spread out through the meadow, calling out for their son. And they kept looking until the sun began to peak well over the horizon. Birds began to tweet out in the announcing of a new day. But the two hobbits who had begun to search through the woods in the night came back to their campsite. Their hearts were broken. There was no sign of their son anywhere.

Out of sheer despair, Belladonna tore the campsite apart. She searched for any signs of her son. Any clue to where the small hobbit could have gone. She was frankly heart broken. Her son was missing and it was her fault. If she had kept watch…he would more than likely still be there.

Belladonna trudged back from the campsite with tears streaking her cheeks. Bungo came from the other side and walked towards his wife. His face was broken and crestfallen. How could this be happening now? Belladonna broke into a cry and ran into her husband's arms. The other hobbit embraced her, stroking her hair.

"There, there love. I'm sure he's fine."

"How can you be so sure?" She demanded with a sob.

"Because he's a Took and a Baggins." Bungo replied fiercely. "We Bagginses are sturdy and resilient. You Tooks are crafty, clever, and quite likeable to a bit of excitement."

_None like this._ Belladonna bitterly thought.

"We will find him, but first, we must go to the Shire." He whispered.

Belladonna looked up and glared at him. "How can you even suggest we—"

"Bella," Bungo interrupted, "we need the help of the Bounders. From there we can get the help of a Ranger. Bilbo is small and incredibly mischievous; he may not understand what it is he's doing. He might just be enjoying his time alone."

"He's five!" Belladonna growled angrily.

"The Bounders will be able to help."

"It's a two day journey."

"Have we any other choice?"

"We can search for him on our own."

"And if we can't cover the entire forest?"

Belladonna's eyes pooled with tears. "I can't leave him."

"And we won't." Bungo stated quietly. "But we need help, the more time we waste, the harder it will be to find Bilbo."

Neither one of them wanted to even acknowledge the idea that their son might never return to them.

So the female hobbit nodded. "We will seek the help of the Bounders."

"Good, let's go now." Bungo said, beginning to leave. He didn't grab any of his things. A two day journey he could make—even if it was without any meals…or water. He could do it for the sake of his family.

Belladonna didn't hesitate to follow him.

So they both left the campsite, completely ruined from the search for Bilbo.

• • •

"Do you know where the Shire is?"

"No."

"Do you know where Hobbiton is?"

"No."

"Do you even know where your campsite was?"

"Somewhere."

Dwalin growled in frustration. "So the lad's got jokes. Wonderful, as if he didn' need ta make this harder."

Thorin shot his friend a look before turning back to the small hobbit. "Come now, Master Baggins, surely you must remember something."

The boy looked sheepish. "Too busy."

"Looking for fairies?" Thorin asked with a sigh.

"Mm-hm." Bilbo affirmed, biting his lip.

"It'll take us hours to find 'is parents!" Dwalin growled, completely refusing to believe what the kidnapper had told him.

Thorin frowned, and looked at his friend. "It will certainly be harder, but we are both skilled at hunting. Surely it will not be too hard to find a pair of hobbits in the woods."

"Mama's name is Bella." Bilbo offered helpfully.

Thorin cocked his brow, before returning his attention to the fauntling. "Bella?"

"Um-hm, and Papa's name is B-b…" the boy stumbled with the sounds before forcing the name out. "B-u-n-g-o."

"Bungo." Dwalin snorted.

Bilbo shot the taller dwarf a look. "Don't make fun of my Papa's name."

"Bungo, Bella, Bilbo." Thorin mused with a small wry smile.

"Triple b!" The hobbit cried out, clapping his hands at the raven haired dwarf's discovery.

"Yes, and we will find them." Thorin said, standing to his full height. He looked up at the sky and at the sun that was lazily rising in the sky.

"I admit it'll be easier fer us ta find the lad's parents with the sun in the sky." The bald dwarf admitted.

"Yes," Thorin agreed. "Perhaps we should move out now. No doubt the child's parents are looking for him." _If they're alive._

Bilbo nodded and sniffed the air. His face suddenly gained a sour expression. Thorin and Dwalin both noticed this and looked at the hobbit curiously. Dwalin voiced it first though.

"What is it lad?"

Bilbo frowned, not liking what he smelled. "Bad. Bad smoke. A fire put out."

Thorin's brows shot up. Perhaps the hobbit's parents had just put out a fire. He wondered if they were closer than they thought or if hobbits in general had a good sense of smell. He looked down at the child.

"Can you follow the smell?"

Bilbo nodded, his face expression still voicing his displeasure.

Picking up their weapons and packs, Dwalin and Thorin followed Bilbo through the trees. They were all quiet, save the Halfling who would occasionally lift up his chin to take a sniffle of the air. More often, though, his face would twist with disapproval. Whatever it was, he didn't like the smell of it.

"Anything new, Master Baggins?" Thorin asked.

"Nope."

Thorin nodded. It seemed the lad didn't trust him quite yet. He had opened himself up to small conversations but that was the extent. Bilbo wouldn't look him in the eye, and he definitely kept his distance from the dwarves. Thorin couldn't blame the fauntling—considering last night, he was surprised that Bilbo trusted them at all.

Suddenly the hobbit looked around him, a smile spreading across his round features. He jumped up and down, clapping excitedly. He turned around and looked back at Thorin and Dwalin.

"I know this place! I do, I do! We are near the meadow!" Bilbo squeaked.

"Meadow?" Thorin asked.

Dwalin shrugged. "I'm as familiar ta these parts as ye."

Thorin nodded and the just continued to follow the hobbits bounding steps. I didn't take long for them to reach a break in the forest. In front of them stretched a sea of weeds and wildflowers. Bilbo laughed and raced through the flowers.

"Mama! Papa! Mama! Papa!" He called.

Thorin and Dwalin looked at each other before taking off after their smaller companion.

"Master Baggins, wait!" Thorin barked out. "Do not wander so far from us."

Bilbo paid no heed to him and only ran faster.

"Laddie! Slow down an' wait fer us!" Dwalin shouted, huffing a bit as his axes smacked against his travel pack.

Bilbo kept running until he came to an abrupt stop. Both dwarves were able to catch up to him then. Dwalin rested his hands on his knees. Thorin only looked annoyed.

"Master Hobbit, do not go running off like that it…" He stopped and looked before him; his stomach dropped. "Oh."

The campsite they had found was destroyed. A make shift tent was torn apart, and blankets were scattered. Everything else was either strewn across the floor of the meadow or ripped. It looked awful. The dwarves shivered, so the Man had been telling the truth. They had finished off the hobbit's parents.

Bilbo only looked confused.

"Mama? Papa?" He peeped out, stepping forward.

Dwalin crouched down and placed his arm in front of the hobbit. "Best not."

The child's lip quivered. "Why?"

The tattooed dwarf didn't answer.

A cry came out of Bilbo and he pushed past Dwalin's arm. He ran towards the desolate campsite only to be scooped up by Thorin's strong arms. The little hobbit squealed, tear's starting to come down his cheeks.

"No! No!" He cried. "Mama! Papa!"

Thorin only held onto the hobbit. His face hardened and he glared at the sight. He wished he had given the kidnappers more painful deaths. They deserved it.

"No Master Baggins, I shall get you your things."

"But Mama and Papa!" Bilbo wailed.

Thorin rubbed the child's back to try and comfort it. "I'm afraid they are gone."

"Gone? They wouldn't leave me!" Bilbo protested.

"They didn' mean ta lad." Dwalin added softly, trying to help.

"Then why'd they go?" The hobbit demanded furiously.

Thorin sighed. "Sometimes people leave, not meaning to. It cannot be helped."

"Will they come back?" Bilbo gasped.

Thorin shook his head.

Bilbo's lips trembled and he looked at the dwarf prince with wide, terrified eyes. Thorin couldn't help but think of his already born nephew, Fili. He would give that same look every time he was afraid of the wolves that lurked near the mountains. It was a look that could curdle ghosts.

Bilbo gave a small cry and buried his face into the folds of the fur coat Thorin wore. The raven haired dwarf stiffed, before tightening his hold on the child. He offered the little bit of comfort he could. He may not know the fauntling, but he knew the sorrow of losing a parent. It was something no one should have to go through—especially at a young age.

"Did ye have pack lad?" Dwalin asked the hobbit quietly.

The hobbit nodded.

"D'ye know what it looked like?"

"Green." Bilbo sniffled through the wall of fur.

Dwalin nodded and stepped into the campsite. He began to look for the little one's pack. Thorin held the child as he cried.

"Why'd they go?" He whimpered.

Thorin sighed. "I'm sure they did not mean to, Master Baggins."

"Said they love me."

"I'm sure they still do."

"Then why'd they leave _me_?"

Thorin shifted the hobbit so they could look eye to eye. "Perhaps you could not follow where they went, Bilbo."

The hobbit bit his lip. "But I go where Mama and Papa go. Always."

"Not this time."

The hobbit sobbed and forced his face back into the dwarf's coat. Thorin could only offer the comfort of a hug. Bilbo was not his child, therefore he did not know what to do with the crying hobbit.

Dwalin returned with a small travel pack of the color green.

"This should be it."

Thorin nodded.

"What we do with 'im?" The taller dwarf asked.

Thorin looked at the child in his arms. "I don't know."

"Perhaps we should take 'im ta Bree. No doubt the Men there know o' the Shire's whereabouts. Maybe a Ranger could take 'im back."

"This sounds best."

"Then let's find the main road."

It took them three hours to get to the main road, and another four to finally reach sight of the main gates of Bree. Thorin shifted the sleeping child who was in his arms. Dwalin looked at the uncomfortable expression on his prince's face.

"D'ya want me ta hold the boy?"

"No, it's fine. I'm used to Fili holding onto me in such a manner."

"Where should we take the boy?"

"The village orphanage." Thorin said with a nod. "They will surely know what to do with him there."

Dwalin's grim nod made Thorin feel unsure.

"Am I wrong to think this?"

The taller dwarf shook his head. "No. It jus' feels strange that we're the ones ta do it."

The prince nodded. "Agreed."

They both entered the dark, damp town with little trouble. It was finding the orphanage that took time. By the time they had found it, the sun was beginning to set. With tired eyes, and a shivering hobbit, they climbed the steps. Once reaching the door, Dwalin banged on it with a heavy fist.

Almost immediately it was opened up by a young girl with a pretty face. Her eyes were blood shot, but she spared them a quick smile. Her eyes were immediately drawn to the hobbit in Thorin's arms, they widened.

"What can I help you with?" She asked quickly, never looking away from the child.

"He needs to be returned to Hobbiton." Thorin rumbled. "There has been an incident with his parents. He lives on what he called Bag End on Bagshot Row. I am unaware of where this is, but perhaps you could find a Ranger."

The girl nodded. "Of course, of course."

She held out her arms.

Thorin's brows raised in alarm at her receptiveness. He was expecting to fill out some sort of paperwork. Or at least see the master of the orphanage.

"I'm the children's nanny." She explained kindly. "Your little friend will be find. As soon as dawn, I will send one of the little ones to find a Ranger. I assure."

Thorin frowned, but shifted Bilbo awake.

The little hobbit looked up and stared at Thorin with confusion.

"We've found you someone who can help you get home, Master Baggins."

"Come?" Bilbo asked tiredly.

Thorin's eyes softened, and he shook his head. "No, Master Baggins. I cannot come."

"Dwalin?" The hobbit asked, turning to the taller dwarf.

Both dwarves looked at the boy with surprise. He had never showed an acknowledgement of friendship or liking towards Dwalin. They had both assumed that the hobbit found the larger dwarf intimidating and scary. Rightfully so too.

"No lad. My place is with Thorin." Dwalin said, awkwardly ruffling the hobbit's hair.

Bilbo frowned. "Oh."

Thorin offered the hobbit a kind smile. "Don't worry Master Baggins, I'm sure we will meet again."

"Promise?" Bilbo asked, with wide eyes.

Thorin looked at the hobbit with equally wide eyes. Why did the fauntling trust him? Why should he? And why would he promise Bilbo anything. He didn't know the child.

But he inclined his head nonetheless. "Yes, Bilbo. I promise."

The hobbit nodded.

Thorin nodded, and looked at the girl. With a frown, he handed Bilbo over to her waiting arms.

She smiled even wider at him.

"Make sure he is well kept." Thorin commanded, his princely air coming about him.

The girl nodded eagerly. "As if he were my own."

Dwalin frowned. Something felt off to him as well.

Thorin nodded and looked at Bilbo. "Goodbye Master Baggins."

"Bye-bye Thorin, Dwalin." The hobbit cooed quietly.

The dwarves took this as their leave. The walked quietly, both feeling odd as the door closed as soon as their backs turned. No, something didn't feel right. Not right at all.

"We will come back to check on our hobbit tomorrow morn." Thorin whispered lowly to his friend.

"Agreed." Dwalin nodded solemnly.

• • •

As soon as the door closed, Bilbo knew something was bad about the place. Even the five year old could tell. Not to mention the greasy man that meant them at the threshold.

"Not bad, Urla." He grinned. "Not bad at all."

'Urla' grimaced but didn't say anything.

"And look, you brought me a hobbit. Now I feel ten times better." The man continued.

Urla inhaled. "I did what you wanted Mortimer."

Mortimer looked at her, a strange glint in his eyes. His hand reached out and his fingers gently stroked her jaw line. Urla flinched but stood rooted to the spot. Her eyes squeezed shot and she seemed to shrink under the man's touch.

"Very well. I will keep my end of the deal. I will refrain from any pleasures that I see fit for myself—for tonight, anyways." He snorted.

The girl stiffened but a sigh of relief escaped her.

Mortimer turned to the hobbit. "Now looky at you! You seem like a fine little thing if I ever saw one."

He reached out to Bilbo and roughly grabbed his chin. Bilbo pulled away immediately. Mortimer didn't like that.

"Put him down, Urla."

The girl nodded and set Bilbo down on the floor. Not five seconds after she set the hobbit on the ground, Mortimer stomped his great boot on the small fauntling foot. Bilbo squealed in pain as the Man's heel grinded into his toes.

"Now listen here, boy." The Man growled. "When you're here, you do things the way I want. Understand?"

Bilbo used his other foot to promptly kick the man in the shin.

This resulted in a slap across the face.

"Hobbits are hearty little things." Mortimer snapped, pulling Bilbo up by the collar. "But people prefer to buy the pretty ones. If you want to get out of _my _house, you better not test my anger."

Oh this Man was reminding him of the two from last night.

Mortimer began to pull Bilbo down the hall of the dimly lit house. He turned around and snapped at the slowly fleeing Urla.

"Leave the lamp on for the others, Urla." He snarled. "Lin and Jed haven't gotten back from their rounds yet."

With that he hauled the stumbling Bilbo to the end of the hall where there was a locked door. Fumbling with the keys for a bit gave the hobbit lad time to think. He wanted his Mama and Papa, even though Thorin said they wouldn't be coming back. He paused and closed his hazel eyes. He even wanted Thorin and Dwalin. He didn't know the two dwarves, but judging on how they reacted with the two men who had taken him, they wouldn't be happy.

Mortimer shoved Bilbo into the room. There was a single candle lighting up that room. But it was easy to see the figures in there. Hobbits. Hobbits crowded the entire room. Their skins were pale, devoid of any sunlight. Their hair was dirty and unruly. Their clothes which may have been brightly colored and cheerful at one point were torn, worn, and dirty. The hobbits themselves seemed sickly and malnourished. They were skinny unlike the plump little things they should've been.

Bilbo gulped.

"Looky what I brought here," Mortimer grinned. "Another piece of profit!"

The hobbits looked away from the boy.

"You just get settled in here." Mortimer said, reaching into his pant pockets. He fished around until he pulled out a cord of rope. Keeping a firm grip on Bilbo, he tied his hands together.

The hobbit whimpered.

"I know lad, but I do this to them too." Mortimer said with a grin. "Can't let ya'll try and leave—not when I've got money to make. Hobbits are good for the selling market."

Selling market, what was that?

Another hobbit, perhaps a year into his tweens stepped up. More like limped over, he had a twisted leg, and supported his weight on a crutch. His brown hair seemed unruly, and his eyes were hollow and desolate of any hobbit joy.

"You've brought a child to sell to the slave market?" The hobbit growled. "Just how desperate are you?"

Mortimer released his grip on Bilbo and turned to the other hobbit. With a bark, the Man kicked the hobbit in the gimp leg. The hobbit shrieked and feel to the ground, his body curling up with pain. None of the other hobbits did anything, they either looked away in shame or looked at the tween with fear.

"I'm desperate when I have nothing to sell but little bastards who can't even walk." Mortimer snapped.

The hobbit grit his teeth. "That's 'cause you made me this way, _sir._"

Mortimer was about to kick the hobbit again when Bilbo lunged at the man and bit his arm. His Took side was boiling over with anger. How dare he hurt another hobbit!

The Man was just as angry with the little hobbit. Using his free arm, he raised it and punched the little one across the jaw. Bilbo fell back with a scream. He curled up in a fetal position. He had never been hit before.

"Learn your place boys!" He roared, before pulling Bilbo up by the hem of his coat again. "There's always one—be it a Took or a Brandybuck, there's always one."

He dragged Bilbo out of the room to another door. With his keys he unlocked what was a small little storage closet with no candles. Just four close walls of brick. Mortimer tossed the fauntling in. Bilbo squeaked as he hit the hard ground.

"A night alone always convinces a hobbit to listen." Mortimer rumbled to both himself and the hobbit. "See you in the morning, little one."

With that, he slammed the door close.

Bilbo curled up against the wall in pain. He didn't even know what happened. One moment, he was saying goodbye to Thorin and Dwalin. The next moment, the Man was treating him poorly—very poorly. And then there were all the hobbits that looked sick; what was wrong with them? Why wouldn't the Man help them? Why did he kick the hurt hobbit? What was a slave? Why would he sell them?

Bilbo began to cry.

He wanted his Mama.

He wanted his Papa.

He even wanted Dwalin.

He wanted Thorin.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

Thorin woke at the start of dawn. His temper was a bit short and the day had yet to barely begin. It would be a long one. His night had been long as well. The food had been ill-cooked and the bed hard. But he could not complain; once he and Dwalin got jobs, they would be able to afford some sort of temporary housing. Which was why he was up so early.

He was a week early for his job at the blacksmith to begin. Eager to impress whoever ran the shop, Thorin thought it best to arrive there and speak to the owner. Dawning his cloak and leaving behind his coat, Thorin stepped out the front door of the inn. Dwalin would probably wonder where he'd gone off to but that was nothing new. Eagerly, Thorin began to trek across the grungy town to where he knew the blacksmith's was.

Of course, there was another reason why he was up so early.

The little hobbit lad they had found would be leaving as soon as the mistress of the orphanage found a Ranger. He wanted to be able to give one last farewell to the little creature. Thorin was unsure _why_ he had grown so attached to Bilbo in the day they had spent traveling, but he couldn't quell the feeling of anger if anything bad became of the poor hobbit. He supposed the little fauntling had been through enough trauma as it was.

Renewed vigor sent Thorin plowing through the muddy streets. Instantly he cursed himself. He did not know the city of Bree well enough to be going alone. Perhaps it was his natural inclination to get lost that made him lose his way almost immediately. Looking around, he noticed a Man standing in front of a burning barrel. Gathering his pride, he walked regally, head held high, to the beggar.

"Excuse me," he said through gritted teeth—he disliked the idea of asking for help.

"Yer excused." The Man nodded.

Thorin resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Could you possibly point me in the direction of the blacksmith's shop?"

The Man released a hard chortle. "That, dwarf, woul' be on tha other side o' tha town. Close ta _tha Prancing Pony_."

"What?" Thorin demanded feeling very angry.

"About six o' seven 'ouses down really." The Man continued.

Oh that made Thorin have a cow. He. Was. JUST. There. The inn in which he and Dwalin had been staying at was literally neighboring the blacksmith's smithy. Curling his fists Thorin turned around briskly.

"Thank you for your time." He growled out over his shoulder.

"Any time laddie!" The Man called out, no small amount of smugness in his voice.

_Men._ The dwarf king thought irritably. _They always must complicate things._

Well, his early morning was wasted. By the time he reached _the Prancing Pony_, the sun had already risen and people were bustling about the town. Not to mention that Dwalin was sitting on the front stoop, sharping one of his many daggers. The taller dwarf looked up with an amused look on his fierce facial features.

"Not a word." Thorin snapped.

Dwalin smirked. "Of course."

Standing up, the dwarf sheathed his knife and jumped down. He landed a few feet behind the raven haired dwarf and began to join him in the walk. They strided in tandem, although Thorin's was more purposeful while Dwalin's looked like a soldier's march.

"So, have you found work?" the raven haired dwarf asked.

Dwalin nodded. "Yes. I found work fer the time bein'."

Thorin's brows raised. "You've found a bakery in which they would hire you?"

The tall dwarf shot the other a warning glare. "I told ye ta never mention what I do fer a livin' aloud."

Thorin chuckled. "It's not as if anyone here knows of you, Dwalin son of Fundin."

"Shut yer trap, Thorin." Dwalin snapped.

Thorin nodded with a small grin on his face. "Very well."

"So, I guess we meet back 'ere ta see the lil' hobbit?" Dwalin asked quietly, changing the subject.

Thorin nodded grimly. "Yes. I want to check on him before he leaves for his home in the Shire."

"I wonder what the lil' lad did ta ye, ta 'ave ye so wrapped around his finger?" Dwalin pondered.

"I am not wrapped around his finger." Thorin protested lowly.

"Then why d'ye care?"

"Must I be 'wrapped around his finger' to care?"

"Ye only knew him fer a day."

"I feel," Thorin explained. "That our small hobbit might have a tendency to find trouble. I only wish to make sure he does not do so until he is back in his Shire—wherever that may be."

Dwalin looked as though he thought about the answer. Then with and a quick wink he chortled out, "Whatever ye say, laddie."

Thorin fumed.

"Oh, look, the blacksmith's." Dwalin pointed to a dingy looking shop.

Thorin nodded. "Right, so I will meet you bake here in an hour?"

Dwalin nodded, before whispering. "'Haps I might even bring back a cake fer our lil' hobbit friend?"

The raven haired dwarf couldn't stop the small grin from spreading on his face. "I think he might like that."

They both parted their separate ways. Thorin walked up to the smith's shop and entered through the smaller front door designed for dwarves. A little bell rang as he entered.

"Hold on, I'll be there in a second!" called a voice.

The dwarf moved over to a corner and stood—waiting patiently. It wasn't long before heavy boot steps filled the room. A stocky, graying man bumbled in—wearing sooty cotton clothes and a worse-for-wear blacksmith's apron.

"Ah," he said with a sigh. "Master Dwarf, how may I be of service?"

"I'm here for the job we've agreed to." Thorin answered, caught unaware that Man would so quickly forget their terms of agreement.

The Man instantly deflated. "Ah, yes. I am Harald."

"Yes, I know." Thorin said a bit impatiently, crossing his arms.

"And you must be Thorin." Harald continued nervously.

"Yes." The dwarf answered curtly.

"You must…must be tired from your journey. Would you like something to eat or drink?"

"I simply wish to talk over pay, if you do not mind, Master Harald."

"Right."

Thorin sighed. "I have a few things to attend to this morning, but I will assuredly come back for work after I am done."

"You weren't due for another week." The Man pointed out cautiously.

The dwarf crossed his arms. "I prefer to be early for things such as these."

"Yes, well—"

They were interrupted, for a greasy looking man with bright red hair came in.

"Good morning, Mister 'Arald, sir! If ye don' be a mindin' me, I'll jus' get ta workin' on the forges now." He greeted.

Harald became extremely pale and jittery. "Yes, yes, fine."

But the Man did not leave, he narrowed his eyes and all but practically glared at Thorin.

"Now 'os this?" He demanded.

"Thorin." Thorin answered tersely.

Enlightenment blossomed across the ginger's features. "Ain't ye the bloke who wos supposed ta take my job?"

Thorin cocked his brow. "Really?"

"'Onest ta good truth, sworn on my mother's own grave." He continued, "why, Ol' 'Arald 'ere didn' even give ya a month's chance after—"

"That is enough, Jonathan. Just get to work." Harald said, pushing the younger man away.

"So," Thorin growled once Jonathan left.

"Master Thorin, please, just give me a chance to explain!" The old Man pleaded.

The dwarf inclined his head.

"I really was going to wait until you came from your travels in Ered Lûin!" Harald defended. "But that was before my son, Ashter, died! It was just me and him—between the two of us, we were able to keep the smithy afloat. After he died in an unfortunate accident, a month ago, I couldn't wait for you to come. Thorin, I need help and I need it quick. The Elders had already threatened to take away my house and forge. I can't lose them! They're all I've got."

Thorin remained unmoved.

"I'm so sorry." Harald continued wholeheartedly. "I just…I couldn't wait."

The dwarf blinked.

"I've even prepared a sum for you, it's not much but it's what your first three month salaries would've been. If I could afford another worker, Master Dwarf, I would more than definitely hire you. But I can't. And I can't lay off Jonathan, for he is working for his five children and his wife. Please," Harald fished out of his trousers a small coin purse. "take it, please. This is what you would have earned and perhaps it can cover your return journey home to Ered Lûin."

Thorin kept a straight composure as he took the pouch.

"I do not live in Ered Lûin, nor do I take charity," He growled harshly, "but it is not for me. It is for my sister, and her two sons who lost their father in battle."

Harald swallowed. Thorin turned around and moved to the door. He opened it before looking over his shoulder. "When you have lived in exile for more than forty years, and lead your people in the harsh conditions of the Blue Mountains, and work for scraps at the forges of Men—then you may seek my pity. I may understand what you've done, but know that you've deprived my kin of enough money to help them stay afloat themselves. For that I cannot forgive."

With that said, he slammed the door behind him.

Thorin stormed down the steps angrily and began his search for Dwalin. It was high time they said goodbye to their hobbit. The sooner the better, they could return home to the Blue Mountains almost empty handed.

• • •

"Why that no good—Thorin, let me at 'im and I'll _ishkh khakfe andu null _on 'im!" Dwalin yelled furiously as they walked down the street towards the orphanage.

"No." Thorin rumbled, trying to keep his own anger down. "He was only doing what he thought best under the circumstances."

"It is no excuse!" Dwalin roared.

"I know that!" Thorin retorted back. "But how can we fault him? He is but a Man! Weak and unlike our kind who can adapt easily to such a circumstance. He was already old and frail as it was."

"All the more reason ta let ye work with him." Dwalin grumbled.

"He cannot afford it." The raven haired dwarf sighed, tiredly. It was not even noon and he was already beyond crestfallen. "You and I both knew that he could only afford one worker—which was why the both of us would not have been working in his smithy."

Dwalin harrumphed.

"Let's just head to the orphanage." Thorin said, picking up his pace. He did not want to miss their hobbit.

When they approached there were no signs that a Ranger had been there yet. Although, it was hard to tell with all the people milling about. Thorin sighed.

"Do you think that—"

Whatever Dwalin was about to say, was cut off by shouting. It came from inside the orphanage. Granted it was muffled, but no doubt it was yelling. Thorin and Dwalin wasted no time rushing up the front porch and bursting through the door.

They were surprised to see a tall, sleazy man towering above a sandy blonde hobbit boy. The hobbit was sprawled out on the ground, a small piece of bread on the floor next to him. The man looked just as shocked as the dwarves, although he recovered quicker.

"Now, Mister Ronto sir, why don't you take that piece of bread there and join the others, yeh?"

The little hobbit put on an award winning smile, but the dwarves did not miss the red mark on his temple.

"Yes sir, yes sir." The hobbit squeaked before pushing himself up.

"Good lad." The man smirked as the hobbit ran off down a hall. He turned to the dwarves. "Kids." He chuckled.

Both Dwalin and Thorin looked unamused.

The man cleared his throat. "So, what can I do for you boys?"

"We both surpass your age." Thorin said grouchily. He did not like this man.

"Ah, right well…just a term of speaking. No offense meant." The man stated, rubbing the back of his neck. "My name's Mortimer."

"Our names are of no consequence." Thorin replied dismissively. "We've only come to say goodbye to a certain hobbit."

"Oh?" Mortimer asked with a raise of his brows.

"Yes, a lil' lad, about yea high." Dwalin said holding his hand right below his knee caps. "Brown hair, bright hazel eyes. Wearin' a yellow waistcoat if I remember right."

"The mistress took him in last night." Thorin added.

Mortimer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Huh. No, can't say that I remember that. Was there a specific reason why _your_ hobbit would be dropped off here, if you're so attached to him?"

Thorin flushed. "A small thing that can easily be hurt, we simply wish to put to rest unneeded fears."

"Ah," Mortimer sighed, before looking behind him. "Nod, Wren, Iris—come here for a second!"

Almost instantly three, dirty, but bright eyed, brunette hobbits came running down the hall. They flicked their eyes to Mortimer before taking in the dwarves. The looks they gave Dwalin and Thorin were almost begging.

"Now, being as I don't remember a hobbit coming in last night, let's ask a few who would've been his roommates." Mortimer suggested. "Did you three remember a, uh—sorry, what was your hobbit's name?"

Thorin felt something pull at his gut.

"Bilbo." He replied through gritted teeth.

"Right, do you lot remember a Bilbo coming in last night?" The Man finished.

The children stayed quiet.

"Well?"

Finally, the two smallest hobbits—Wren and Iris—shook their heads earnestly.

Thorin and Dwalin both glanced at Nod.

The hobbit boy looked up at them with intelligence, pain, and hope in his eyes. He glanced back at Mortimer. The Man gave him a pointed look.

"Go on, lad, don't be shy."

With a large inhale, he exhaled a barely audible, "yes".

Maybe it was the fact that both dwarves had swords, and knives on Dwalin's behalf. They both seemed intimidating and well practice. Maybe it was the thing that gave Nod the courage to stand up to Mortimer. He hoped, just hoped, that maybe the two dwarves could free them.

Wren and Iris looked at their friend with something akin to terror.

"The boy must be mistaken." Mortimer said, inching towards the now gregarious hobbit.

Thorin hummed.

"No, I did see him." Nod squeaked.

Dwalin raised his eyes.

Both Wren and Iris cast looks at Thorin and Dwalin before chirping in.

"Everyone saw."

Thorin felt his suspicions confirmed. He crouched down so he was at eye level with the fauntlings. He looked at them as gently as he could.

"Can you show me where he is?"

"Now see here—" Mortimer started but was interrupted by Dwalin.

"If ye nothin' ta hide, an' they're mistaken, then there shouldn' be a problem."

Mortimer sharply inhaled.

"No, we don' know where he is, but…we know someone." They whispered.

"Take me." Thorin urged.

Mortimer started towards the wall, raising his hand as if to knock when the raven haired dwarf stepped in front of him.

"You will be staying here, with Dwalin. I shall return shortly."

"You have no right to be doing this! An infringement on my property!" Mortimer argued.

"It's an orphanage. Prospective parents are able to look for prospective sons and daughters." Thorin answered coolly.

"And are you?" the Man spat.

Thorin blinked surprised. Wait what had he meant, why had he said does words? Why was he hesitating to answer? Now was not the time for hesitation.

"Perhaps."

He just legally avoided a problem. The dwarf turned to Dwalin.

_"Keep an eye on him, don't let him move." _He rumbled in Khuzdul.

"Aye." Dwalin replied in Westron.

Thorin then nodded to the hobbits. "Take me to your friend."

They nodded before sprinting down the hall. Thorin followed, wondering why they were so eager. When he reached the door they had paused at, they looked at him expectantly. With his suspicion blooming into full paranoia, Thorin nearly broke the door down.

"Mahal."

There in the small room were at least five dozen hobbits, their ages varying. All of them looked pale, sickly, and or wounded even. The hobbits looked at him with awestruck. And then they began cheering, some crying, and some chanting in relief.

"We're free, we're free, we're free…"

Thorin couldn't believe his eyes.

"Hey, everyone!" Wren piped up, breaking the tearful joy. "He's here to free us! But first, he's lookin' for that hobbit who came in yesterday! Anyone know which area Mortimer put him in?"

A hobbit, who limped up on a crutch because of a severely mutilated leg nodded to him.

"My name's Crutchy." He said.

Thorin felt bile rise in his chest. A child should not suffer such wounds. What had they put Bilbo to?

"Can you take me to him?"

The hobbit smiled ruefully. "Certainly, Master Dwarf."

Crutchy then began to limp swiftly down the hall, and to the left. There was a door with a lock on it. The hobbit tapped the door with his crutch.

"'Ey, little one? Can you hear me? There is a friend here. A friend for you! It's alright, it's not Mortimer."

No answer.

Thorin felt rage surge up his throat. "Where's the key?"

"Mortimer has it." The hobbit replied quietly.

With a quick yank and slash, Thorin swiped his sword across the door knob. It fell to the floor with a 'clank'. He shoved the door open.

There in the corner of what seemed to be a closet was Bilbo. The hobbit lad was curled up, eyes squeezed shut. He flinched away from the light.

"Please…go away." He whimpered.

Thorin's heart—for whatever reason—shattered. "Bilbo."

The tiny hobbit looked up, revealing the right side of his face to have a black eye and a small thin line of dried blood.

"T-t-thorin?" He asked in disbelief.

"Dwalin!" Thorin bellowed, making both hobbits flinch.

The tattooed dwarf immediately came to the raven haired dwarf's aid.

"D'ye find him?"

"Aye."

Dwalin looked in to see the harmed hobbit. "What in the name of—"

"Go get a Ranger." Thorin hissed. "And take the Man with you."

"Gladly," Dwalin replied with a gleeful, violent gleam in his eye. He then ran off.

Thorin turned to Crutchy. "Tell the others to gather up their belongings. We are setting them free as soon as a Ranger comes."

Crutchy gave Thorin a heart breaking smile. "I've been here for five years. I'll do so without hesitation."

The sounds of uneven tapping echoed down the hall as the gimpy hobbit rushed down to the others.

Thorin then raced to Bilbo, crouching down next to the hobbit. He reached out only for the little one to recoil away. Tears streaked his eyes.

"Bilbo." Thorin said soothingly.

"Don'." The child whimpered.

Thorin looked at the hobbit tenderly. "I will not hurt you, Bilbo."

The hobbit stared at him; one eye black, both watery. "P-p-promise?"

"I swear it." Thorin replied seriously.

Bilbo nodded.

Thorin scooped up the child bring him close to his chest. Bilbo grabbed onto the furs of his coat like his life depended on it. The poor five year old burst into tears almost immediately. The dwarf rocked the hobbit back and forth, humming.

_What have you done to me, Bilbo Baggins?_ He wondered, stroking the little one's downy hair.

"Dah, Dah, Dah…" the child sobbed over and over again.

Thorin clutched Bilbo tighter, a paternal instinct he'd only felt when Fíli was born rise in his chest. Yet unsure if the child was aware of what he was saying. The thought made his heart beat faster.

But seeing the hobbit child, in his arms crying made Thorin realize one thing. He wasn't going to let Bilbo out of his sight again. He would not let go of the hobbit child again.

_It's an orphanage. Prospective parents are able to look for prospective sons and daughters._

Maybe he'd found just that.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

Quite frankly, Bartholomew was having a bad morning. The other Rangers had all but left him to the town of Bree to watch alone for another three months. They claimed he was still too young and he didn't understand everything in the world quite yet. He argued a very point of not being able to see the rest of Middle Earth if he was stuck in Bree where nothing ever happened.

So imagine his surprise and—sadly—excitement when a dwarf burst into the shop with a man practically dragging on the ground behind him.

Bartholomew rose, his hand finger the hilt of his sword. "May I help you—or him—Master Dwarf?"

"Ye can get yer tonker to the orphanage right this second." The dwarf growled, throwing the man on the floor. "This one 'as been keepin' hobbits not children there! What's worse is that 'e's been beatin' them an' keepin' them as slaves!"

"That's quite an accusation!" Bartholomew exclaimed, setting down his pipe.

"But it's true."

Bartholomew frowned. "Show me."

The dwarf nodded stiffly and ran out the door, the man on the ground in tow. The Ranger ran out, and strode next to the dwarf easily. They pushed through the crowds, receiving odd looks, but both were used to such looks. One was a dwarf and the other was a Ranger—such untrusting glances were common.

The dwarf led him up the stairs to the orphanage and shoved the door open. He threw the man up against the wall. Whoever it was yelped in pain, before slouching down, eyes closed. The dwarf looked around.

"Thorin!" He shouted. "I've got 'im."

It wasn't long before heavy boot clomps were heard down the hall. Bartholomew looked up to see a large dwarf approach them. Everything about his bearing said regal, from the way he carried himself to the stiffness of his manner. Even his long black hair seemed to billow behind him as he marched towards them. The only thing that seemed out of place, was the tiny child that was curled up against the dwarf's chest. The little boy seemed to be a hobbit, his clothes were dirty as was his hair. He didn't seem threatened by the dwarf though, if anything he appeared to try and curl himself closer into the fur folds of the raven haired dwarf's coat and cloak.

"Ah, Dwalin, good." Thorin said, before looking to the Ranger. "Have you been aware of the going-ons in this house?"

"I fear I only knew it to be a simple orphanage, Master Dwarf." Bartholomew answered truthfully.

"I thought as much." The dwarf snorted. "Follow me then, Ranger."

"My name is Bartholomew." The Man retorted, following Thorin.

"Very, well, Bartholomew. Do many people often come to the orphanage?"

The Ranger thought about it before shaking his head. "No, not really. People have a hard time feeding their families here in Bree. It's a small town—any extra mouths to feed is almost unwelcomed. The orphanage is set up, really for children to be kept off the streets rather than to be fostered."

Thorin frowned. "So you would have them become beggars when they are older?"

"It is not a decision I made," Bartholomew answered, shooting an aggravated glance at Thorin. "It is that of the Elders."

"Did the Elders know of this then?" The dwarf asked, gesturing with his head, into a doorway.

The Ranger stepped forward with a raised eyebrow before looking in.

"By the Valar."

What he saw disgusted him. There were about maybe, four or five dozen hobbits all in a room. They all looked malnourished and sun deprived. Currently though, they had smiles on their faces as they were packing up bedrolls and the like.

"This is what has been happening under this house?" Bartholomew demanded.

"It would seem." Thorin nodded, adjusting the hobbit in his arms. "We arrived here, and simply came to search this room. We found them here."

_What were you doing searching this house? _"Did you search the rest of the house?"

"We did not."

"Then you and your partner fan out." He ordered. "We don't know if he has other races here as well. He might not have any dwarves, but he could most definitely have human children here."

"Very well." The dwarf answered.

He shifted the child, looking at it tenderly. Lifting his arm a bit, he shook the tiny hobbit's shoulder. The Ranger observed from the corner of his eye.

"Bilbo, I will be right back, you must stay with the other hobbits."

The little child looked up at him and shook his head, stubbornly burying it back into the furs of his coat.

"Bilbo," Thorin whispered. "There may very well be something dangerous in these other rooms. I do not wish for you to get hurt." _More than what you are already._

"No. I stay."

"Bilbo."

"Stay."

"Bil—"

"STAY."

The dwarf prince looked down into the water of eyes of the hobbit and found himself trapped. Dear Mahal, could those eyes look any sadder? He sighed. Gently, Thorin moved the hobbit from his arms and onto his back. Bilbo immediately complied with the action and wrapped his small arms around Thorin's neck and his legs around his chest. The dwarf looped his arms under the boy's legs, hoisting him up a bit into a better position on his back. Without another word, he and the hobbit left the hall.

Bartholomew cocked his head. _That was the strangest thing I've ever seen. Of all the dwarves that have passed through Bree, I don't believe I've ever seen one act like that. What does that child mean to that dwarf Thorin? And why…why does that name sound familiar?_

The Ranger could hear from the upstairs levels quite a bit of shuffling and stomping from the dwarves. He shook his head, as he even heard a bit of Khuzdul fly from both dwarves mouth, followed by the indignant shout of their hobbit companion. Valar only knows what they said and what they saw.

"Ranger!" came a shout from the voice of the dwarf Dwalin. "Ye best get up here."

Bartholomew didn't hesitate to run down the hall and up the stairs. He paused at the top, clenching the rail tightly. The dwarf had dragged out of a room a girl, maybe no older than twenty. His jaw clenched.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"A victim, same as the others." She snapped.

At that moment, Thorin came out of one of the rooms he was searching. When he laid eyes on the woman, he almost threw down Bilbo in pure fury. He stormed up to the three of them, his eyes ablaze.

"You!" He snarled.

The girl looked impassive. "I couldn't have kept my promise even if I wanted."

"If you were a dwarf I would have shaved you of all your hair by now." Thorin growled, clutching Bilbo tighter. The hobbit's arm's curled tighter around his neck.

"I had no choice!" The girl protested, yanking her arm in Dwalin's grasp, but he wouldn't loosen his grip. "I'm as slave to Mortimer as the others."

"Why?" Bartholomew asked lowly, crossing his arms.

"My parents owed money to him." The girl replied angrily. "They couldn't pay him so they sold me."

The Ranger raised his brow. "They would do that?"

"They didn't care."

Oh.

"What did you do for the Man?" Thorin demanded.

The girl's eyes widened and her cheeks bloomed red like primrose. "I…I, um…"

Bartholomew nodded, understanding. "It's alright, we won't make you say."

Both Thorin and Dwalin cocked their heads to the side, not understanding. Bartholomew sighed. The girl sucked in breath from her mouth.

"She has been wronged." The Ranger explained.

The dwarves' eyes when wide.

"Did he hit you, too?" Bilbo asked quietly.

The girl glared daggers at the tiny hobbit. "That's none of your business."

Thorin growled a warning as Bilbo whimpered.

Bartholomew pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"Are there any others here?"

"No, none that are human. Mortimer was able to sell them long ago." The girl answered. "Just the hobbits left, today he was going to take them to whatever black market he was planning on selling them at."

"Did you know where?"

"He never trusted me enough to tell me."

Dwalin snorted.

The girl glowered at him.

"What will you do now?" The Ranger pressed.

"Go to Rohan. Far away from any of this. I'm sick of Bree, I never want to be here again."

"It's a long and dangerous journey alone." Thorin pointed out begrudgingly, a girl like here wouldn't survive a week.

"I know." She answered mildly.

Thorin looked to Bartholomew but the Ranger had already began to go down the stairs. Mortimer was starting to come to. Grabbing his shirt collar, Bartholomew rammed the man's head up against the wall again. With a shout, Mortimer's eyes rolled back and he was unconscious again.

"He'll be easier to carry." He explained at the amused looks of the dwarves.

Thorin cleared his throat. "And what of the other hobbits?"

"If you don't mind," Bartholomew started. "I'd like to summon a few other Rangers that are nearby. Tomorrow, we can take the hobbits to the Shire."

Thorin nodded.

"And what of the hobbit that seems inseparable from you?" The Ranger asked.

"We saved 'im from kidnappers." Dwalin explained. "They…" He looked from Bilbo to the Ranger and shook his head, stepping into the hall.

Bartholomew followed. "What else did they do?"

Dwalin frowned. "They killed 'is parents. It took us forever ta find the place where 'e 'ad been camped, but we found nothin' but ruin when we got there."

"I feel sorry for the little one." Bartholomew whispered.

"'E 'asn't let go of Thorin since." Dwalin answered.

The Ranger stepped out of the hall and looked to the other dwarf. "Do you know of what clan he belongs to?"

"Pardon?"

"Hobbits have large families." Bartholomew explained. "I fear I only know a few, I actually have never been to the Shire. I'm always stationed here. I'm not one of the many wandering Rangers—I keep the peace, or try, here."

"Bilbo, do you know what clan you belong to?" Thorin asked the hobbit on his back.

"I'm a Baggins." The child squeaked. "A Baggins of Bag End."

The Ranger's eyes widened.

"A Baggins." He murmured sorrowfully.

"What? What is wrong with the lad bein' a Baggins?" Dwalin pressed.

"There are two clans of the hobbits that I am sure of." The Ranger began. "The Tooks and the Baggins."

"Well, that is good. The lil' one will 'ave family."

Thorin's heart began to clench.

"Not exactly." Bartholomew said.

Thorin titled his head to the side. "What?"

"About fifteen years ago, there was a terrible winter. Everyone in this area felt it. The hobbits of the Shire had it the worse. The Brandywine froze over allowing Orcs and Wargs to cross the borders. Many hobbits were killed that winter; and according to the reports from Rangers who were in that area—the whole of the Baggins clan was killed."

"Explain his parents, then."

"Whoever the Baggins was of his parents, they may have been the last one."

"So he has no family?"

"None that is alive." The Ranger whispered quietly.

Dwalin and Thorin shared worried looks.

"Perhaps you could take him." Bartholomew suggested.

"What?" Both Dwalin and Thorin choked out.

The Ranger nodded. "He seems quite comfortable with the both of you. Quite frankly, hobbits don't trust strangers outside of their Shire."

"Perhaps he feels as though he owes a debt?" Dwalin piped up weakly.

"Hobbits don't think like that." Bartholomew shrugged. "At least the one's I've encountered."

Thorin looked harshly at Bartholomew.

"And how do we know you are not lying. Even if we did decide to take Bilbo with us, how would we know you would not try to take advantage of the others?"

The Ranger cocked his head.

"The last man they trusted, lied to them." The girl offered with a shamed smile.

Bartholomew looked at the dwarves before kneeling down before them. He placed a hand on Thorin's shoulder looking him straight in the eyes. His face stony, and stoic.

"I swear on the graves of my deceased wife and my unborn child, that I will keep the hobbits safe unto the Shire."

Thorin's eyes widened. "I accept your vow."

Bartholomew nodded, before standing up coolly. "So that's settled, are you going to take dear Bilbo Baggins with you?"

"If he wishes to come." Thorin said. "If not, perhaps you could find a good family for him to live with?"

"Where are you going?" The Ranger asked alarmed.

"Home." Dwalin answered coolly.

"Ered Lûin?"

"Just because we are dwarves does not mean we necessarily live there."

"So, you don't live in Ered Lûin?"

Dwalin looked at Thorin and the other dwarf shook his head. The Ranger might have sworn to keep the hobbits safe, but he would not spill the location of their home. No, they would be taking their hobbit to the Blue Mountain, and he did not want any loose kidnappers following them.

"Aye," Dwalin admitted. "We live in Ered Lûin."

Bartholomew smirked.

Thorin gently tugged Bilbo off of his back and set him down on the ground. The hobbit looked up at the dwarf with teary eyes. Thorin sighed.

"Master Baggins, Dwalin and I will be leaving soon. Do you wish to come with us?"

The hobbit sniffled.

"If you do not wish to come with us because it is far from your Shire, it is understandable. The Ranger is willing to escort you and the other hobbits home." Thorin continued.

Bilbo nodded. "I go."

"Who with laddie?" Dwalin asked, crouching down eye level with the little one.

"Thorin." The boy answered quietly. "Dah."

Bartholomew's, Thorin's, and Dwalin's eyebrows all shot up. The raven haired dwarf turned a bit red and the tattooed one spluttered. The Ranger smirked wildly.

"So I guess that's that then."

The Ranger walked down the hall shouting. "Come now Halflings, let's go and get all of you some breakfast, it's early enough for you!"

When he came back down the hall, Dwalin was glaring at the girl. "Wha' about her?"

"She's of age." The Ranger said, sparing her a sympathetic glance. "She may go wherever she pleases."

"'She' has a name." The girl spat. "And it's Urla, by the way."

With a swift turn of the heels, she stormed out of the building.

The Ranger cocked his brow. "Well, that was handled well."

"She's not our concern." The bald dwarf snorted.

Bartholomew shrugged. "But the hobbit is?"

"Yes, because we are the ones who saved Bilbo, therefor we are responsible." Thorin stated.

"In a sense, you saved everyone here. If you had not gone into the room to find your little one, you might not have found all of them."

"We had to come back for him."

"Could you imagine if you had not been dwarves? If you had been hobbits or even Men? You most likely would have not succeeded—you would have wound up being dead or enslaved yourselves. You saved everyone here and you know it."

"But we are not responsible for them."

"No, I am." Bartholomew smiled, looking at the hobbits who were skipping down the hall. "Now, if you don't mind, Master Dwarves—I have to go get these folks some food. Good luck Master Dwarves, and safe travels."

And with that, the grinning Ranger left with a majestic swoop of his cape. Although he stopped by the wall and grabbed Mortimer by the collar of his shirt. He dragged the man behind him in the dirt, his cape billowing majestically behind him. The other hobbits chattered, walking past the dwarves and patting them on the shoulders. They waited until all the other hobbits left, before looking at Bilbo.

"Mama and Papa aren't coming back?" Bilbo asked quietly.

Thorin frowned. "Yes, they are not going to return."

"Then I want to go now." The hobbit answered.

"We c'n get some good ground behind us, Thorin, if we leave now." Dwalin informed.

"Right yes, then, let us return to the inn and gather the rest of our things."

The larger dwarf nodded and left the room.

Thorin looked at Bilbo and crouched down in front of Bilbo.

"Are you ready, Master Hobbit?"

"Yes, Dah." Bilbo nodded, biting his little lip.

Thorin sighed. "Why do you call me that? 'Dah'."

"I sorry." The hobbit whimpered.

"I do not mind, Bilbo. I just wish to know why."

"I dunno."

Thorin raised one of his thick hairy brows.

The hobbit flushed. "I don't have a Papa anymore."

The dwarf's eyes widened and he looked at the boy with surprise.

"I'm alone—no family for me." Bilbo began to cry. "No family for me."

Thorin's heart splintered as he heard the words of the tiny boy. He couldn't help but remember the black clouds of the phantoms of his memory. He was haunted by the images of Smaug destroying and laying waste to his kingdom of Erebor. Or how the pale Orc decapitated his grandfather's mighty corpse in the battle of Anzanulbizar His father was so over thrown with grief that he was either dead or lost forever. It had left him and Dís to mourn the bodies—his dead brother Frerin included—alone. Yes, Thorin Oakenshield knew loss; especially when nothing but moniker came from it.

The ex-prince-who-would-be-king gathered the little boy in his arms.

"There now, you Master Baggins, do not cry." He murmured into the Bilbo's ears. "You are not alone. You have Dwalin, and you have I."

The boy sniffled, hiding his face in the warm soft fluffy fur of Thorin's coat.

"Do you trust me, Bilbo?" Thorin asked softly, stroking the boy's downy hair.

"Yes." Bilbo whimpered, letting the tears stream down his face.

Thorin smiled softly, and picked up the hobbit. His strong arms wrapped around him and holding him close. Never had he dreamed of having an heir, but the idea of this little hobbit being it—seemed very, very uplifting.

"Then Bilbo, I will try my hardest to be your Dah."

The fauntling looked up at the dwarf with wide hazel eyes. The little one offered Thorin a weak smile before hugging him fiercely. Thorin returned it. He was unsure why in under such a short amount of time this little boy was able to burgle his heart away.

Thorin pulled out of the hug and looked at the hobbit child with bright blue eyes.

"Come now, Master Baggins. Let us go find Dwalin at the inn. For now, we leave for the Blue Mountains. We leave for home."

Bilbo, tearstained and red-eyed, grinned.

"Home." He echoed.


	5. Chapter 5

_So it was brought to my attention that given the time and place, the Thain would actually be Belladonna's father and Bilbo's grandfather. this is the edited version of chapter 5 with the Thain as Bella's father, not her granddad._

* * *

Chapter 5:

Belladonna and Bungo stumbled into the Shire tired, hungry, and thirsty. They had traveled the three day journey without any rest. When the other hobbits saw them, they flocked to them immediately. They were crying out wondering what to do with them when Belladonna spoke.

"I need…need to speak…with Father." She croaked, looking at the hobbits wildly.

Poppy Proudfoot, her pink dress skirts twirling around her calves.

"Where's Bilbo?" She asked urgently.

"We have to see the Thain." Bungo pressed, his frame shaking.

The other hobbits hesitated, before forming a tight circle around the two.

"Well get you to the Thain." They marched forward like a tiny army of children.

Belladonna and Bungo leaned on their fellow faunts for help but they traveled quietly. Never before had there been such a group of about fifteen hobbits, so silent. The tension rolled off of the two parents like waves. It didn't take an elf to notice the strain and panic of the two. They got to the Thain's smial and one of the Brandybucks of the group knocked on the door. Almost immediately it was opened.

"What in the name of everything good and green is going on?" The Thain marveled, staring at the crowd.

"Belladonna and Bungo have returned, and they are worse for wear." Someone from the crowd piped up.

"Well bring them forward." The Thain crowed a bit grouchily, looking for his daughter.

Belladonna and Bungo were helped to the front of the tiny mob. The Thain looked them over before beckoning them in with a worried expression. They stumbled forward into the warm home of the older hobbit. The Thain looked at the others.

"Alright, the lot of you return home. Go on now, get on." He shooed them away.

The hobbits, ever ones to love gossip, begrudgingly walked away and scattered. Once they were gone, the Thain led his daughter and son-in-law away to the living area. He sat them down before rushing to get them some tea. He returned, using his grizzled old hands to force the tea into their hands.

"What happened?" He demanded softly.

"Bil-bilbo." Belladonna whispered, inhaling the gentle tangy fumes of the tea. "He's gone."

"Gone?"

"We were out campin' in Hillington Meadows." Bungo answered, his voice steadier after practically inhaling his cup of tea.

The Thain offered him more.

"We were sleepin'. When we awoke, he was gone." The tired father explained.

Belladonna looked nothing but shaken. "It was m-m-my fault. All my f-f-fault."

"Hush now, love." Bungo shushed, his hand reaching out to stroke hers. "There was nothin' we could do…"

But they both now there was. If only one of them had stayed up to keep watch. Everything would've been okay, Bilbo would've been with them—they all would been in their hobbit hole, nice and snug. But they had not. They both chose to pay no mind to the safe rules of the road.

"Where was he last?" the Thain asked quietly, his voice in mourning for his grandson.

"At the Hillington Meadows. We searched the forest good and well. But bein' that there's only two of us. It probably wasn't enough."

"I will notify the Bounders immediately." The Thain said.

"And a R-r-ranger." The mother whimpered, squirming in her seat.

The Thain spared her a tender look before leaning forward and kissing her atop her brow. "Of course, my daughter."

He stood up and looked at Bungo. "You are welcomed to one of my guest rooms. Neither one of you are fit to return to Bag End. Stay the night here. You will join the Bounders if you are up to it tomorrow."

Bungo was shaking his head saying that they should wait here just in case of the possibility that Bilbo should be returned. But Belladonna piped up.

"We will come."

The Thain nodded. "Get some rest. Tomorrow might be a harder trek."

Bungo nodded, too tired for food. He stood up, and grabbed his wife's arm. He hauled her up gently before returning a grateful look to the Thain. The elder nodded before dismissing them with a wave of his hand, hugging Belladonna on her way out. They walked out of the room and into the hall. Both were quiet as they walked into one of the spare rooms. Both had stayed plenty of times with the Thain and knew their place around. When they arrived a recently cleaned guest room, they tumbled in and onto the bed. Belladonna practically burrowed under the blankets, while Bungo took his time to take off his coat and suspenders before crawling in.

They would bathe in the morn, but now—all he wanted to do, and he was sure Belladonna too, was exhausted.

"Do you think he's a-a-alive?" Belladonna cried, the pain of everything finally incarnating into the form of tears.

"Of course he is." Bungo whispered, aghast at any other unpleasant thought. "He surely is. Because he is our son an' if anyone has a chance to survive the wild, it most certainly would be the son of Belladonna Took."

"And Bungo Baggins." She added with a weak smile.

"Our son is jus' fine. Everthing will turn out all right, love—you just wait an' see."

So with heavy hearts, they allowed themselves the well needed rest of the night.

• • •

"Matthias, Troias—I am glad you could join me." Bartholomew greeted with a smile. He refrained from tacking his horse to look at the two the other Rangers.

"We came as quickly as we could when we heard your summons." The ginger haired Ranger—Matthias—replied.

"I can't believe of the treacheries committed by Mortimer." Troias said quietly. "I thought I knew him well."

"Did you?" Bartholomew asked with pure interest.

"I've known him since were kids." The hooded Ranger mourned. "It is sad to know that I have never truly known him."

"It is a shame that all of us have not been able to see past his ruse." Bartholomew said with a shake of his head. "So many hobbits, and humans too have been sold under his care. I wish we would have known…I would have known."

"Well, it's a good thing you found out then, to prevent anymore of such nonsense from happening." Matthias sighed. "Valar knows how many of those poor creatures would've died if you continued to treat them like he did. Hobbits are hearty creatures, but only up to a certain point."

"Yes, I just…" Bartholomew started but paused.

"You couldn't have known, Bart." Troias consoled, putting a comforting hand on the younger Ranger's shoulder. "No one did. Otherwise Mortimer would've had to deal with me."

Bartholomew gave him a weak smile.

"Speaking of Mortimer getting what he deserved, what happened to the dwarves?" Matthias asked. "The ones that didn't beat the tar out of him?"

"They took their Halfling and went home." Bartholomew replied. "They've been gone since yesterday morning."

"It was good that they did what they did." Troias smiled wistfully. "And on top of that they adopted a hobbit."

Bartholomew gave the hooded Ranger a queer look. "I'm sorry, but…I don't remember you at any of our meetings."

Troias laughed. "I rarely go to those. I tend to wander every border from Eriador and Arador to Rohan."

The youngest Ranger hummed. "Right, well, let's be on our way while it's early."

"Have the Haflings eaten anything?"

"Aye, I've made sure they've all been well fed since yesterday."

"Good, it's a shame though—that they'll have to wait a few days to eat a good meal again."

Bartholomew chuckled. "Some of them haven't seen their families in over a decade. They're more than willing to sacrifice a few meals so that way they can return home."

"What a bunch." Troias whistled.

Bartholomew tightened the saddle on the horse he was tacking. "Right then."

The others nodded and turned to the post where they had tied their own horses. Untying them, the mounted as well.

"So, where are the hobbits?"

"At the front gate."

"Ah."

The horses turned and clopped down the street.

"Do you think the three of us will be enough?" Matthias asked quietly.

"There is not much danger on the road from Bree to the Shire." Bartholomew pointed out. "And according to your papers, you've been to the Shire before, correct Troias?"

"Umhm, it is a lovely place. I try to visit as often as I can." The hooded Ranger replied.

"I figured you could lead the front of the group and Matthias and I can watch the back." Bartholomew informed, as they approached the gates.

"Where are you lot goin' then?" A voice shouted.

The three Rangers looked down to see the gate keeper approaching them.

"Heading out to the Shire. No worries Garth, we'll be back soon." Bartholomew offered with a smile.

"Right n' glad that you managed to sort out that nasty mess concernin' Mortimer." Garth said with a shake of his head. "Alright, y'all be careful now."

"We will." Matthias assured, spurring his horse forward outside of the gate.

Bartholomew gave a curt nod before following the other.

Troias looked to the gate keeper. Garth shivered, and looked down. The Ranger grinned and pressed his finger to his lip. _No one must know._

"Hey, you wait up for me!" He shouted with one brief glance to the keeper before trotting after the others.

All the hobbits were in a group outside the gates. They were smiling and grinning, soaking up the morning sunlight.

"Right, so Troias, you going to get us going or not?" Bartholomew grinned, helping the gimpy hobbit onto his horse.

"But of course!" Troias smiled, "right, you hobbits—no wondering. I'll be leading and Matthias and Bartholomew will be in the rear. If any of you need a break, just shout and one of us will allow you to ride until you're good and rested. Got it?"

The hobbits shouted in reply.

"Good. Let's move out!"

So, for the rest of the day, the hobbits walked. Their Ranger escorts did their best to keep the mood happy. They were allowed to sing songs or tell jokes. Matthias was telling a story the group that was next to him, while Bartholomew was singing with some of the younger faunts. Troias did his best to keep his eyes on the road, trying not to admit to his want for brooding. _No one must know._

It was at sunset when Bartholomew stopped.

"Let's head off the road, we'll camp in the glen for the night."

"Hillington Meadows?" Matthias asked, nodding to the hobbit that was riding behind him. The lad slid off the horse and joined his friends.

"It is safe enough." Bartholomew answered pensively. "I…also have a bit of a job to do here."

The two others nodded.

"Right you lot, you heard him." Troias shouted. "Let's go."

They walked off the road and through the trees. The hobbits merrily started dancing in and out of the trunks with great big smiles on their faces. Bartholomew couldn't help but smirk. Here was a people who had every right to be angry and furious at being oppressed like the way they had been. But instead they chose to forgive. Never forget—he knew hobbits could never forget, but they always forgave.

_Perhaps that is something every race could learn from._ He thought wryly.

When they reached to glen, he dismounted as did his fellow Rangers.

"Alright you hobbits, get settled. We'll be staying here for the night."

The hobbits chirped in agreement. After that there was nothing but bustle. The elders were lighting fires and pulling out little pots that Bartholomew had purchased for the road. They filled it with water and a broth, throwing in bits of cram. The youngers wondered about the meadow, looking around curiously. Bartholomew watched them for a bit before looking at Matthias—who was helping with some of the cooking.

He leaned down and whispered lowly, "Watch them."

The other Ranger nodded and returned to cooking.

Bartholomew looked around before noticing that Troias wasn't anywhere to be seen. _That's odd, I could've sworn I saw him a moment ago._

With a shrug, the Ranger walked off into the woods. Using the information that Thorin and Dwalin had given him, he began to crouch down—looking at the ground. There were hardly any tracks left…except hobbits left big marks in the ground. Even as a fauntling, Bilbo had left great big tracks—despite that they were now fading.

Bartholomew followed them, a thoughtful expression etched on his face. As he got deeper into the woods, the harder the tracks were to follow. There was a point reached where the footprints got scuffled, as if the little one making them had panicked.

"He must have figured he was lost, right about here…" The Ranger murmured, untangling the mess of tracks and continuing to follow them.

It was quite some time before he stopped. A certain pair of the steps had been deeper than the others. The prints sunk in the dirt deeply, even though a few days later they were faded. Bartholomew sat back on his heels.

"Bilbo must've stopped here…but why?"

It was then that a smell hit the Ranger's nose. He recoiled almost immediately—he knew the smell of rancid meat anywhere. Slinking forwards, he realized that it was the remains of a camp site. He flinched, wondering if this was the poor little hobbit's camp. But when approached, and saw the dead body of a man, Bartholomew shook his head. This was the camp of the kidnappers.

He inched towards the dead man's body. Gnats and other insects that feasted on flesh crawled over his body, and into his hair. The eyes were long gone, leaving nothing but gooey eye sockets. Bartholomew shivered. Even orcs couldn't beat the ravages of time and scavengers. With a sigh, he poked at the man with the sheath of his sword. Nothing. He realized though, that there were faint horse tracks leading away from the camp.

Cocking his head to the side, the Ranger followed them. Judging by the placement of the hoof prints, the rider was in a hurry to get somewhere fast. By the way the indentations in the ground were made, he guess that the horse had been carrying two riders. As he traveled along, a second pair of footprints ran up along the horse but leading in the opposite direction. They were heavy boot prints with small designs on the soles.

_A dwarf. _Bartholomew figured. _One of them must have finished the man off at the camp, and the other…what was the other doing?_

He found his answer soon enough as he came to where the hoof prints scattered, as if the horse had reared up. Looking to his left, he saw the faint prints of another set of boots. Whoever it was had been standing behind the horse. Looking to his right, Bartholomew saw two dead bodies; a horse and a rider.

He shivered. Yes, this most definitely was the place where the dwarves had rescued their hobbit. Valar help anyone else who tried to separate the three. The two dwarves had done quite a bit to these two and they hadn't even known the boy.

"Your dwarves did a number on these Men, didn't they?"

Bartholomew spun around, sword drawn only to be faced with Troias.

"Oh, it's you." He sighed in relief. "I suppose they did. It's incredible to think that they had such loyalty without even knowing the fauntling."

"Nonsense." snorted Troias. "I'm  
sure those dwarves were happy to pound their axes somewhere. That race is as blasted violent as orcs."

Bartholomew frowned, sheathing his sword. "Or not. I've met a good deal of dwarves. They may not be friendly—but they are certainly not bloodthirsty."

The other Ranger shrugged. "They are greedy, and they care not for the life that is around them."

The younger Ranger's fingers fiddled with the pommel of his sword. Troias had given him the bad vibes ever since they met. This one was definitely up to something.

"Come to think of it," Troias admitted, pulling down his hood to reveal a bald head with several tattoos. "these Men were simply trying to make a living."

"It was a wrong way to live." Bartholomew snapped. "You claim dwarves cannot see the lives so close to them and yet you are blind to the fact that these Men stole and sold hobbits and Men for a living."

"A fish has to swim, and a bird's got to eat." The once-hooded Ranger admitted with a shrug.

"I'm starting to think you don't care."

"Oh I do, just not about the same things you do."

"Enlighten me." Bartholomew gritted his teeth.

Troias grinned and shook his head. "You know, you were right to have your suspicions about me."

Bartholomew rolled out of the way as the older man threw a knife.

"You're a quick little bugger, I'll give you that—but this a small wood, and you'll need more than your speed."

"I had no intention of running." The young Ranger growled, standing up and drawing his sword.

"Ever the honorable Ranger." Troias grinned. "Well, you've got something coming if you think you can beat Troias Hillington in a fight."

"Hillington?" Bartholomew mouthed, a bit stunned.

"Aye, yes." The older grinned. "The slave trade has been in my family for generations. Hillington Meadows was set up as a place to lure in…stock. Once the stock was in my families meadows, the workers would go and collect the prizes and take them to Bree where they could be processed and sold."

"And why would you tell me this?" Bartholomew snarled, taking a step forward. "All I have to do is run and tell the others. You're practically giving yourself away."

"Oh dear it does seem like I gave away my secret, huh?" Troias chortled. "Well, young Bartholomew—I'll tell you a secret."

The Ranger took a step back only to scream and fall. Looking down he saw a huge claw like trap clamped tight onto his foot. The sharp ends dug into his skin and bone, holding him in place on the ground.

"A secret can be kept among three if two are dead."

With that, Bartholomew looked up only for a sword to skewer his head. The last thing he thought, before he died, was how lucky Bilbo was to spared from a horrible fate. Troias laughed, simply stabbing the younger's head over and over again. Finally, once his fun was over, he dug his sword into the ground and wiped his bloody hands on his shirt.

"Well that takes care of one. One more to go." Fiddling around on his belt, he took out his horn.

Putting his mouth to it, he gave it a solid blow. It rang across the woods. Good.

"Come on boys, time to get your goods." He mumbled, tearing off Bartholomew's cloak. He would need a good story—and considering his employers who were coming, he would have one.

Troias was about to leave when the cold tip of a metal blade met the back of his neck. He froze. His body shook against his will.

"You're right Troias," Matthias whispered darkly. "A secret can be kept if the two are dead."

And Troias fell to the ground, without a head. The said member rolling away into the underbrush. Matthias knelt next to the other Ranger, whose head had been brutally mutilated. The Ranger's lip quivered, and he reached over and closed Bartholomew's eyes—or what was left of them.

"You did not deserve this, my friend." Matthias whimpered. "I've known you since you joined the Rangers. You have always been a good lad."

A Warg's howl echoed across the forest like a fog horn. The lone Ranger knew he had to return.

"I will not let you die in vain, Bartholomew." He swore. "I will protect the ones who cannot protect themselves. And I will do it alone."

With that, Matthias placed Bartholomew's sword on his chest, crossing the dead Ranger's sword firmly over the weapon. Looking around, he threw leaves and other things on top of the body so that maybe the Warg and Orcs could not sacrilege the body any more than it was. He nodded, that would have to do. It was the only burial he could provide.

Strolling to Troias' body, he took the still corpse's sword. The weapon would be handy. At the sound of another, closer Warg howl, Matthias looked over his shoulder before running back to the camp of hobbits.

He would finish, dead or alive, what Bartholomew had started.

• • •

Any progress that they had with Bilbo disappeared as they approached the second day of their journey. Thorin and Dwalin witnessed the little hobbit tuck his personality into a protective shell, and leave it there. The only sign of him trusting the two, was that he clung to the fingers of both warriors with an iron grasp. Nothing could pry them from his hold.

Not that they wanted to. The little one had been through enough trauma as it was, they didn't know what the breaking point for the fauntling would be. But with that pointed out, they didn't know if he had already reached his breaking point.

"Thorin?" Bilbo peeped quietly.

Both dwarves raised their brows and looked at their smaller companion. He hadn't spoken all day, and the break in the silence was a welcomed surprise.

"Yes?" The raven haired dwarf asked in return.

"Can you tell story?" Bilbo requested, his tiny voice quivering.

Thorin exchanged looks with Dwalin. "What…what type of story, Master Baggins?"

"A happy one."

Thorin frowned. A happy story. Seldom were stories happy, for dwarves. Sure they could always wish for one, but a dwarf was of stone—hard and harsh. Sometimes there was hardship in finding the little joys. What type of story would he tell Fíli? He was sure Bilbo would like one of those stories.

"Once, long ago, all the races of Middle Earth were united." Thorin began. "The elf kind and the dwarves were friends, and the hobbits and men lived in unity. The times were prosperous. Never had there been greater ties of friendship."

Bilbo stared at him with round hazel eyes.

"One day," Thorin continued. "A young dwarf came across a dangerous ancient weapon. A weapon that could be used to destroy the tie between the races. Worried, the elves called together a meeting to discuss what could be done with the weapon.

"The race of Men, wished to use it for their own benefit. They saw the weapon as something to help them regain safety against the Orcs and trolls of their region. The race of hobbits wanted nothing to do with it, therefore they didn't care what happened to it. The race of the dwarves wanted it buried under their tallest, and most guarded mountain—knowing that it could never be found. But the race of the elves wanted it destroyed. They said it needed to be taken back to the lands of its origin so that way it could be annihilated with that hammer that forged it."

Dwalin grunted amusedly.

Thorin shot him a look.

The dwarf held up his hand in submission. "Tell yer story 'owever ye want. I would've 'ad the elves wantin' to color it gold and make it a pretty decoration fer one o' their over grown plants."

Thorin looked at Dwalin, giving an exasperated huff.

"Anyways, it was not a dwarf who stepped up, it was a young hobbit. His name was Drungo."

Bilbo cocked his head, clearly interested now.

"Drungo told the elves that he would gladly take the weapon away to have it destroyed. Well the dwarves, they felt ashamed that they had not stepped up first, and that the smallest race in all of Middle Earth would volunteer first. So the dwarves gave Drungo their prince…Ullr. After that, each race offered one of their princes to help Drungo complete his quest.

"Over time, Drungo befriended each of the princes; but he and prince Ullr had a special friendship. They confided in each other wholeheartedly and trusted each other to a fault. The other princes smiled upon this friendship, seeing it good that a secretive dwarf such as Ullr could trust someone outside of his race.

"They traveled for years, to this mysterious land where the evil weapon was created. And then one day they found it. But what the prince failed to notice, was that the weapon's power had been slowly tempting Drungo. Holding such a vile thing for so long, would corrupt any—even those with the purest of hearts. When they arrived, Drungo refused to destroy the weapon. Instead he turned on his friends, killing them all—"

Bilbo squeaked in distress. Thorin looked at him from the corner of his eye, giving him a small smile. He raised his finger.

"—killing them all, except for Ullr."

The hobbit held his breath.

"Ullr stood before his friend. He set down all of his stubborn dwarven pride, and he begged him to stop. To remember why they had set out on the quest in the first place. Drungo attacked anyways. But Ullr would not harm his friend. He allowed the raged hobbit to stab and slash at him with his sword."

Bilbo gasped.

"But he did not die." The raven dwarf grinned. "Ullr opened up his tattered jacket to reveal a coat of mithril. A hobbit's sword thrust were not hard enough to pierce his armor—even if it were a cursed weapon. Drungo was terrified at his actions, it was as if he awoke from a nightmare. Realizing that he had killed his friends, and tried to kill his best friend—he attempted to kill himself with the weapon. Ullr grabbed his hand and shook his head. With that, he led the hobbit to the forge, and together—they destroyed the weapon."

"What happened next?" Bilbo exhaled quietly.

"Ullr gave his crown to his brother." Thorin said softly. "With Drungo, the poor hobbit was terrified he could never do a good thing again. So the dwarf prince returned with the hobbit, where they lived together as good friends. The dwarf got to see his friend live past his sickness, find a nice hobbit lass, get married, and have a hobbit child of their own. And Ullr never regretted leaving the other dwarves—being with Drungo and his family was more than enough."

Dwalin looked at Thorin with mild impression.

The dwarf king smirked smugly.

"Did the princes of the elves and Men go to Valinor?"

Thorin cocked his head to the side and stroked his beard thoughtfully. He honestly had no idea about the elves theory of an afterlife—nor Men's for that matter.

"Yes, Bilbo, they did." He answered after a little bit.

"Yay." The hobbit answered with a small smile on his face.

Dwalin looked up at the sky, he nodded as the sunset. "I'm assumin' we should be breaking fer camp soon, yeh?"

"Aye, sounds good. What do you say, Master Baggins?" Thorin nodded before turning to the fauntling.

Bilbo blinked his eyes owlishly. "Yes! Sleepy and hungry!"

Dwalin chuckled. "D'ye here that Thorin? Sleepy and hungry; it might be high time we stop fer the night or else the lad might keel over on us."

Thorin chuckled. He turned his head, looking for a good spot to camp. He noticed a small sheltered spot under a bunch of pine trees. He gestured with his head and pointed to the spot. Dwalin gave Thorin a stiff nod before surging forward to check the spot for anything dangerous. Finding nothing wrong, he gestured the dwarf king and the hobbit over.

Thorin tugged Bilbo along until they both plopped next to Dwalin—who had already begun to gather pine needles to start a small fire. Bilbo looked at the two dwarves eagerly. Dwalin chuckled.

"Ready fer dinner laddie?"

"Umhm!"

"We've got biscuits and jerky." Dwalin said with false enthusiasm.

Bilbo's eyes lit up. "I like biscuits!"

Thorin lifted his eyebrow in amusement. "Really?"

"Umhm! Mama used to make…" Bilbo's eyes looked away from them and off into the darkening forest.

"Bilbo—" Thorin started, reaching out towards the little hobbit.

Bilbo swiped his arm back hostilely, tears beginning to streak down his face. "No!"

Thorin and Dwalin exchanged looks.

_He's your hobbit._ Dwalin mouthed to Thorin.

Thorin shot him a contemptuous look.

Dwalin shrugged before placing a plate of food in front of Bilbo. The fauntling drew his knees up to his chest and hugged them. He paused, though, to take one of the biscuits and eat it. Gently he rocked himself back and forth. Both dwarves paused when they realized Bilbo was singing.

_"Hush my little bumble bee,_

_Hush my tiny dandelion,_

_Mama's gonna be right here,_

_She will always be near._

_"Quiet my roaring lion,_

_Quiet my howling wolf,_

_Papa will protect you,_

_Papa will always guide you._

_"Sleep my twinkling star,_

_Sleep my glowing moon,_

_Nothing can separate our love,_

_Nothing can separate us from you."_

Thorin looked at Dwalin in alarm and the tattooed dwarf shrugged. But the worry was there in the inked one's eyes. He gave a brief glance to Bilbo before handing Thorin his food.

"What's the first thing ye know 'bout raisin' a hobbit?" the dwarf wondered, before patting his friend on the shoulder. "I'll take first watch."

Thorin nodded numbly as Bilbo repeated his song. No doubt one of his parent had written it as a lullaby. The raven-haired dwarf ate his meal silently, looking at the hobbit who only paused his song to eat his food. By the time Bilbo was done lamenting, he handed Dwalin the empty plate.

"Thank ye, laddie."

"Night, Mister Dwalin." Bilbo sniffed.

"Night." The warrior huffed.

The little hobbit trundled over to Thorin, who was now smoking his pipe. He looked at Bilbo with worry. The fauntling sat next to him, his eyes focused on the ground in front of him.

"Sorry." Bilbo murmured.

"You have nothing to be sorry for, Bilbo." Thorin answered calmly.

Bilbo's eyes pooled with tears. "I miss my Mama and Papa."

Thorin's eyes softened and he opened his arms. Bilbo practically leapt into them, clutching onto the dwarf's shirt. He cried again.

"Shush, Bilbo. Things will turn out for the better." Thorin consoled. "I miss my amad and adad too."

"Did they leave you too?" Bilbo sobbed.

"Yes." Thorin said, trying not to growl. _They left me selfishly. Not carrying what happened to me, or Dís, or Frerin._

"It'll be okay." Bilbo whimpered, drying his tears on Thorin's coat.

"Oh?" Thorin rumbled.

Bilbo nodded. "We can be alone together."

Thorin chuckled.

"With Mister Dwalin." The hobbit added quickly, not wanting to hurt the bald dwarf's feelings.

Thorin stroked Bilbo's hair. "Yes, we can be alone together."

"With Mister Dwalin!"

"Yes, with Dwalin."

Bilbo gave a weak smile, before cuddling into Thorin's soft coat. The dwarf shifted himself so that way the child in his lap could rest more comfortably. Bilbo looked up at Thorin with bloodshot, droopy eyes.

"Dah?" He asked quietly.

Thorin looked down. "Hm?"

"How far are we from Blue Mountains?"

Thorin chuckled. "About a month of traveling. Why?"

"A month I get to know you." The hobbit chirped sleepily.

Thorin smiled, ruffling the small one's hair. "Yes, and a month that I will be able to know you better."

Bilbo smiled and snuggled in better, closing his eyes.

Thorin leaned back against the tree stump he had sat in front of. He smoked his pipe contentedly, looking up at the stars. How things had changed so quickly. He had never imagined any of this. He was starting to drift off when Bilbo tugged on one of his braids. Thorin looked down at the tiny hobbit in surprise.

Bilbo looked at him very seriously, his brows furrowed. "Dah."

"What is it?" Thorin asked urgently.

"Dah, I have to go."

"Go?"

"I have to go to the bathroom."

The dwarf king sighed and leaned back against the tree again. _Right._

* * *

_A/N: So I would like to thank all of you who review and quite frankly, just read this story. I never would have imagined that this story would be like by quite a few fanfictioners, so thank you. This was originally supposed to be a Father's Day present...but that kinda didn't happen. Sorry. Hope the length of it was enough to make up for the lateness of it. Please review and tell me what you think!_


	6. Chapter 6

_Quick A/N: it had been brought to my attention that given the time and place of things, The Thain would actually be Belladonna's father and not her grandfather. I apologize for my slip; so the mistake has been edited in ch5 and is properly used here in this one._

* * *

Chapter 6:

The hobbits had been walking for two days when they came upon the smell. Putrid flesh and oozing, drying blood scent smacked their noses and left them gasping. The Thain stood proudly, his tiny sword clenched in his hands. Belladonna tightened her grip on the small sword, a present that Gandalf had once given her, and she stepped forward her nose twitching. Bungo looked very out of place holding a small bow, an arrow notched and ready to let loose.

Both parents stood rigid, afraid that the smell might possibly belong to their missing son. The other Bounders with them, pulled their bows taut, ready for the slightest sign of dangers. The group of them crept forward, breath baited. Suddenly the Thain raised his fist, telling everyone to stop. They watched as the old hobbit continued forward, his sword poised to strike.

He jumped through the bushes with a large yell, only to stop short.

"Oh for the love of the Green Lady." He muttered, looking out in terror. "Bounders, to me!"

Belladonna and Bungo rushed with the Bounders to the Thain's aid. What they saw mortified them. There scattered in the clearing were corpses. They were hobbit bodies; at least two dozen. But they covered the ground. Bungo gagged, the others sucked in sharp breaths. Belladonna stepped forward next to the Thain, her eyes wide with horror.

"What could have done this, father?"

Gerontius Took looked among the bodies. "I don't…Belladonna, you have been on the adventures—have you or Gandalf ever encountered such things?"

The hobbit lass shook her head, teeth clenched. "No, we'd run into a few bandit killings but nothing ever of this size."

The Thain cleared his throat. "Search for survivors. I don't know what caused such a large group of hobbits to come to the meadows, but we must find out."

So like that the Bounders, Bungo, Belladonna, and the Thain fanned out. They picked their way across the littered field that was full of bodies. Bungo actually had to remove himself from the environment back into the forest where he could retch. Belladonna stuck close to her father, giving her husband a worried glance though as he passed them.

"Gerontius!" Someone cried out, looking up from over a particularly large body. "You should probably see this."

The Thain and Belladonna crept over to the particular Bounder and recoiled at the sight of the monster.

"An orc." The two hissed simultaneously.

"There's more than one." The Bounder pointed to what seemed to be a trail of dead orc bodies.

"Someone killed all of these?" Belladonna sniffed, her nose twitching.

The Bounder nodded. "Everyone, follow this trail, if there are more orcs—I do suppose numbers are our best options."

The others regrouped, along with a pale Bungo, before standing behind the two Tooks. Well actually, most of the Bounders were Tooks because they were the most likely to take such a job—but that matters little. On tender hooks they crept forward, following the path of slaughtered orcs. It was a very disturbing scene, because the further they went along, the more orc bodies there were.

"Look!" peeped a Bounder with a blue hat.

The live group of hobbits look forward to see a man sitting up against a tree. His head was bowed and his back hunched over. Both of his arms were limp, two swords dangling out of his lifeless hands. A black arrow protruded from his chest and seemed to be nailing him to the tree.

"Oh dear." Bungo whispered, hand flying to his mouth.

Belladonna rushed forward, touching the man's cheek lightly. She flinched back with a gasp. Her hand flew to her mouth.

"He's still breathing!"

Another Bounder, one with a healer's bag rushed forward, kneeling beside the man. He pressed his fingers to the man's mouth before nodding slightly to the others.

"He's unconscious. The lot of you, hold down his limbs; I'm going to try and—"

"It's hobbits!" Thrilled a voice.

The group became defensive. Gerontius stepped forward sword raise. His brows were furrowed and his mouth set in a straight line; he looked incredibly fierce for a Halfling.

"Show yourself!"

"We're up here!" the voice called.

Immediately the group stiffened before looking up into the tree tops. There in the branches were more hobbits. Some of the Bounders let out sighs of relief, while others scratched their heads. Bungo staggered, and Belladonna looked up before hope blossomed in her heart. About three dozen hobbits were nestled up in the trees, clutching onto the branches for dear life.

"Thank Yavanna." The Thain whispered. "Hullo up there!"

"Is he going to be okay?" A brown haired hobbit called down.

"For now." The medic hobbit replied. "His breathing is shallow and his pulse is slow. But I will do what I can for him."

"So many of the little ones perished." Another cried. "Matthias died trying to protect them—especially our youngest: Wren, Iris, and Nod."

"Did they make it?" Bungo asked hopefully.

One hobbit let out a sob.

The brown haired one shook his head. "No. As far as we knew, Nod, Iris, Wren, Crutchy, Blossom, Diddo, Felgo, Botho, Tulip, Rose, and Heather were all…have all passed away. We lost count when Matthias ordered us to climb the trees."

"Could you all possibly climb down? It hurts looking up at you." Belladonna shouted up.

The hobbits in the trees looked to one another before nodding reluctantly. One by one they all slid down the tree trunks. The small group was soon joined by a much larger group of their kind. Except these hobbits were sick looking—they were skinny and pale; as if they had been deprived of any sunlight. Their skin stuck to their limbs and clung to them, proving that they had not eaten well for who knows how long. The Thain steamed.

"Who did this?" He demanded.

The brown haired hobbit who had spoken up before stepped up to the Thain.

"He is locked away in prison right now." He murmured. "But we cannot talk of things here—it is unsafe. The Ranger told us, before he passed out, that we must leave before more orcs came back. He said it would be a possibility."

The Bounders looked at each other with uncertainty.

"You are positive of it?"

The hobbit gave a tired smile. "Enough to bet any chance of food."

"Nonsense." The Thain growled. "Follow us and we'll be at the outskirts of the Shire soon. It'll be a day after that 'till we reach Hobbiton."

"I'm not from Hobbiton I'm from Tookborough."

"I'm from Michel Delving!"

"I'm from Buckland!"

"I don't remember where I'm from…"

"Enough!" the Thain shouted impatiently. "We will go to Hobbiton and get places sorted out there."

The other hobbits looked at each other before heads went bobbing with their voiced approval of "fair enough" and "sounds good".

"Right. Bungo, Miles—can you two carry the Ranger or will there need to be a third?"

"Um, sir, do I have time to make a stretcher?" the medic asked, cleaning the wound from where he had pulled the arrow from. "It will be much easier to carry if him, if we can put him on a stretcher."

The Thain sighed but nodded. "Quickly, quickly. We cannot tarry."

With the medic's instructions, both he and Bungo set quickly to making a stretcher out of two long, sturdy branches and a part of a tarp that had been in someone's bag. Meanwhile Belladonna searched the group of hobbits for any sign of her son. There were a few small hobbits, but none of them were Bilbo.

"Have any of you seen my son, Bilbo?" She asked earnestly, heart dropping when they began to shake their heads.

"Was he a small lad? Dark, curly brown hair?" An old hobbit asked.

Belladonna nodded quickly. "Yes! Yes! That's Bilbo!"

The old curd snorted. "There were a ton of fauntlings like that, ma'am. Most of 'em died in the attack. I suggest you search the bodies."

A hobbit next to him gasped and whispered. "You do not say those types of things."

"Life is brutal. It's best to break it that way." The elder snapped.

The other hobbit offered Belladonna a look of sympathy.

Without a word, Belladonna spun around and ran to the corpses that she had seen earlier. The larger hobbit bodies had been brutally mutilated, as if the orcs had been playing with their innards. The smaller bodies that definitely belonged to fauntlings were only slit at the throats. The hobbit mother searched, misery and anguish growing with every step.

With a sob she sunk to her knees.

"Miss?"

She looked up to see a black haired hobbit that looked at her with watery eyes.

"Was your son wearing a waist coat the color yellow?"

Belladonna nodded, remembering exactly what Bilbo had been wearing.

"He had been adopted—he got lucky."

The hobbit lass choked. "Adopted?"

"Umhm, a pair of dwarves I think…they took him. Saved him from this fate."

"But…I'm his mother! He knows that! He would never leave me!"

The other shook his head. "I don't know much, but I think they thought you dead. 'Said they had rescued the little one from kidnappers, they did."

"But Bilbo…Bilbo would've known!"

"The little one, from what I could see, had no intention of letting go of one of them."

Belladonna felt the tears streaming down her cheeks.

"I'm 'fraid I don't know much, miss. But I do know that the little one is in good care. The dwarves are the ones that freed us. If you never see your child again—because let's face it, dwarves are the wand'ring folk that go from town to town, at least you can know he is with a good person."

Belladonna let out an anguished wail that sent the hobbit stumbling back. Bungo immediately rushed forward from his duties to the aid of his wife. He held her and allowed her to cry and hold onto him for dear life as she wept over him.

"Do you know the dwarves' names?" Bungo questioned softly.

"N-n-no sir." The hobbit fretted, wringing his hands nervously. "Barely even got a look at them. They were off trying to help the little one—I suppose your Bilbo—before any of us got to thank them. Didn't even get to see them leave really. One of the Rangers told us they left with a fauntling who had been entrusted into their care."

"They have no right!" Belladonna bit. "No right to take my son!"

"Hush." Bungo whispered fiercely. "It's better than only hopin' he weren't dead, Bella."

And even though he wanted his son, even though he wanted to hold his boy in his own arms to coddle him, he was relieved. Because at least his boy would be safe. The only problem was that he was with dwarves. Hobbits, or any others for that fact, no little to nothing about dwarves due to their overzealous secrecy. Bilbo, would be with very unhobbity people. And that was not the way of a Baggins. He should be with his parents, he should be with hobbits.

_But at least he is alive. _Bungo thought begrudgingly.

"We are never going to see our boy again!" Bella retorted. "And all you can say is that it's fine?"

"The ways of the Valar're strange." Bungo soothed, stroking her hair. "If it's our fate, we'll see our boy again."

Belladonna cried.

A few of brave hobbits, mainly the Bounders, stayed behind to bury the bodies. The hobbits wished them luck and said their farewells; hoping they would see them again. With that, they left the area, on the return trip to Hobbiton. Later, as all the hobbits were moving along the path, the Ranger spoke. He had awoken with pain, judging by the sharp intake of breath he took. With a groan he barely opened his eyes.

"The Halflings?" He shivered. "Did they…they live?"

The Thain stood next to him as Bungo and the medic carried him along on the stretcher.

"Yes," he lied. "They are all well."

The Ranger sighed his eyes closing again. "Good…"

"Do you know of a hobbit named Bilbo?" Belladonna piped up from her father's side.

"Bilbo…?" the Ranger rasped. "Bilbo…no…s'rry."

"He was the hobbit taken by dwarves! Do you know who the dwarves are?" She pushed, frustration edging her voice.

"Ah…good dwarves…" he slurred. "They go far…far…away…I know not where…Bart never…told…"

"Shush; you'll strain yourself." The medic scold, shifting his grip on the makeshift stretcher.

The Ranger didn't argue, only squeezed his eyes tightly, agony etching his facial features.

"I can…rest now…?" He whispered.

The medic hummed an affirmative.

"You useless Ranger!" Belladonna growled, once the man had fallen into unconsciousness again.

"Belladonna!" Both The Thain and Bungo hissed reprimanding her.

"It is his job to know what is going on!" She exclaimed bitterly. "His job to know! It's his…his…"

She buried her face into her hands.

The Thain offered her a comforting hand on the shoulder as he guided his daughter along. Bungo winced, and gripped the stretcher tighter. Belladonna nuzzled herself into her father's side. She cried her little heart out—she Belladonna Took, the Great Adventuress. Her son, her only son was gone, swept away by dwarves.

They had no right.

"He is alive, and by the sounds of it, being cared for. Things will fall into place, you will see my daughter. There are no accidents; perhaps young Bilbo was meant to go with these dwarves. Maybe if it didn't happen now, it would happen later. Who knows what would have happened then."

"It wouldn't, because I would make sure he—"

"Be like me?" Bungo piped up from where he was. "Bella, Bilbo is more Took than Baggins. Adventure and trouble calls him like it does you! Your father's right, if it didn't happen now, it would've happened later. _He's_ a Took. All we can do is pray that he'll be returned to us in the right time."

"It should be our right time _now_." Bella muttered.

The Thain hugged her. "Things will fall into place, daughter. You will see."

But Belladonna didn't hear him. She only heard the words that replayed in her head. Words that meant nothing. Everyone else was right, if it was their fate, she would be reunited with her son in their right time. But, she would do whatever she could to speed it up. Oh yes she would. She would contact Gandalf. He would know what to do.

_Because they had no right, no right to take my son._

• • •

_ The Pale Orc charged, his voice roaring with the rage of a thunderstorm. Thorin raised his shield, only to find that it was his sword. Why would his shield be in his other hand? Looking to his other hand, he saw that a tiny hobbit child was curled up, resting against his side. The hobbit lad was covered with dirt and blood, and his curly brown hair was matted with grime._

What is Bilbo doing here? _Thorin thought in terror._

_ He looked up only for Azog to swing his mace into the dwarf's face. Thorin flew back, they hobbit child tumbling from his arms. Thorin struggled to stand, his eyesight hazy and his muscle numb from so much fighting. He curled his arms tighter around Bilbo, only to realize that the fauntling was not there. The dwarf's eyes snapped open in alarm as he looked around the blood tinted air._

_ "Bilbo! Bilbo!" He shrieked._

_ Suddenly it was not a battlefield that surrounded him, but a lush thick forest, full of dark looming trees. Thorin felt out of place, his feet and hands longing for the stone of a mountain. Any mountain—he didn't care._

_ "Dah! Dah! Help! Dah!" screamed a painfully shrill and familiar voice._

_ Thorin's blood shot throughout his body. He took off running, his muscles pumping strong as his feet pounded the earth loudly. Fear rattled his body. Why was the little hobbit lost? Why had he been at the battle? _

_ "Bilbo? Bilbo where are you?" Thorin called out._

_ "Dah!"_

_ "Bilbo? Come to me! Please!"_

_ He looked all around him through the dark woods. And finally his eyes landed upon a small form curled upon the ground. A huge sigh of relief shook through his body. He ran towards the little body that was so familiar._

_ "Oh Mahal, Bilbo! What in the name of everything good were you do—"_

_ He stopped as a figure tore itself from the shadows. Thorin's blood heated. Azog stood smugly, his filthy orc hands behind his back._

_ "Azog." Thorin growled, his eyes flicking between him, Bilbo and the orc. He could reach Bilbo just in time if…_

_ Azog smirked. __**"Eat your heart out, dwarf-scum."**_

_ Thorin raised his lips into a snarl._

_ Suddenly Azog raised his arms, a head in his grasp. Thorin growled, anger flowing through him. So he would have to see his grandfather die again. He griped his sword, a battle cry forming at his lips, when suddenly his blood froze. That was not Thror's head…_

"Bilbo!" Thorin gasped, eyes flaring open, sitting up a bit quickly.

His hand flew immediately to his chest, where the little hobbit was curled up sleeping. He sighed. Bilbo was there, head and all. The fauntling sighed uncomfortably before burrowing deeper into Thorin's coat. The dwarf hesitantly stroked the boy's feather soft hair, his heart soothing itself that the boy was fine.

They had been traveling for two weeks already. He and Bilbo had become almost inseparable during that time. Bilbo either toddled between him and Dwalin or he ended up carrying the tiny hobbit. But he didn't mind. Bilbo was a presence in his life that Thorin had not had before. Sure, there was Fíli, his nephew but there were certain restrictions on what Thorin could do for the boy in his life. He could not take the father roll for the boy because Fíli remember his father Víli all too well still. He couldn't accept Thorin—not yet. But Bilbo, he was still too young, and he needed a father. Both of his parents had been killed; putting Thorin in a spot that he would never have imagined. He grit his teeth for a second before relaxing. He was thankful, that even though his parents died, Bilbo had been near him and Dwalin. He had been able to rescue the fauntling and now, he was in charge of him.

Bilbo snored softly and cuddled in deeper to the furs of the coat.

Thorin rumbled softly in his chest, before hugging the child tighter. What had Bilbo done to melt his heart in a way that no one else had? He just, he didn't understand.

"Go back ta sleep Thorin." Dwalin muttered from where he was seated by the smoldering fire, taking the last watch.

"I'm sorry, Dwalin." The raven hair dwarf snorted.

"Shush." Dwalin hissed. "Yer going ta wake the boy!"

"I know the basics of child raising Dwalin." Thorin snarked. "I think I know what level my voice needs to be."

Dwalin growled. "That boy has better hearin' than a beardlin', Thorin."

"He is perfectly content with staying asleep." The dwarf king murmured, as Bilbo only cuddled into the furs, murmuring softly. Thorin rested his hand on the child's back. It was reassuring.

"What d'ye dream 'bout?"

"Hm?"

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "Somethin' shook ye, Thorin. So what d'ye dream 'bout?"

Thorin turned his head stubbornly. "I do not wish to speak of it."

Dwalin hummed. "Ye can tell me anythin', Thorin."

Thorin grunted. "Three words: Anzanulbizar, Azog, Bilbo."

"Oh," Dwalin murmured, looking down at his tattooed hands. "I didn' mean…sorry, Thorin."

Thorin huffed.

Dwalin sighed. "Well…since yer up, mind takin' watch for a bit? I need ta relieve myself."

This time, Thorin actually chuckled gruffly. "Go; you have a weak bladder, Dwalin."

Dwalin snorted indignantly. "No, yer hobbit does. How many times did he have ta wake up yesterday ta go? Five times, Thorin. Five times."

"He is also five years old, Dwalin. Not fifty seven."

"It's only fifty-two years difference." Dwalin answered with a hand to his heart as he stood up.

"Get out of here." Thorin laughed softly.

Dwalin grinned before leaving.

Thorin laid back down, his hand rubbing circles on little Bilbo's back. He hummed an old dwarrow tune that came to his mind as he looked up at the black turning rose sky. The stars were barely fading, turning into pink-hued diamonds in the velvet of the sky. For once the dwarf king was at ease with the simplicity of things. He didn't mind being a blacksmith, he didn't mind that he was heading toward Ered Lûin instead of Erebor. And he certainly did not mind the hobbit fauntling that was nestled on his chest in a very cat like manner.

Thorin grabbed the handle of his sword quickly when he heard a sudden snapping of branches. He sighed when it was only Dwalin. He was about to make a snide remark when he noticed Dwalin's urgent glance.

"What is it?" Thorin demanded.

"Wolves." Dwalin answered, his voice low.

"How clo—"

A howl rose up far above the trees, echoing across the new dawn sky. Another cry rose, and then other. Soon there was an entire cacophony of wolves' howls yowling through the forest. Thorin glanced at Dwalin in alarm, before preparing to shift up. He shook Bilbo, alerting the hobbit to get up.

"S'what?" Bilbo gurgled, his voice groggy.

"Get up Bilbo," Thorin whispered, we have to move now.

He had no worries for him and Dwalin. They could stave off the wolves easy, but they could not take their chances with the boy. Considering they were only about a week out from Ered Lûin, he considered them lucky—but no such luck could help them now. Dwalin gathered up their packs in a jiffy, while Thorin hoisted Bilbo onto his back. The hobbit wrapped his arms around the dwarf's neck and his legs partially around his chest. Thorin looped his arms under Bilbo's legs before nodding to Dwalin. The bald dwarf didn't hesitate to begin running; although Thorin could see the want of battle in the other's eyes. But he too, knew the risks, what with a child being there.

Another howl shot through the air, followed by several return cries. The wolves were on their trail. Thorin sped up, his boots digging deeper into the dirt. Bilbo bounced uncomfortably against his back, and every now and then squeaked in protest. Dwalin's weapons and the pack's thumped loudly against the taller dwarf frame. Thorin swore under his breath as the wolf howls got louder. Bilbo whimpered against his back.

Thorin stiffened. How could they make it out safely if they couldn't fight? They would all die for sure if he and Dwalin only ran. He stopped running.

"Bilbo, you can climb trees, yes?"

"Thorin, what are ye doin'? We don' have time!" Dwalin exclaimed, skidding to a halt next to his would-be-but-exiled king.

Thorin ignored him. "Can you climb, Bilbo?"

"Yes." The fauntling murmured.

"Good."

Thorin approached the closest tree, with branches that were too high for any wolf to snap at. He carefully lifted Bilbo off his back and onto the branch. The hobbit latched on quickly, balancing himself against the dry wood. He looked at Thorin with big, woeful eyes. He reached his tiny hand out.

"Thorin?" He asked confusedly.

Thorin hesitated before grasping the little hand tightly but gently. "We will be back, Bilbo—I swear it."

Bilbo's eyes widened. "You're lea—"

Another howl.

"Thorin, we don' have time fer this! We have ta lead 'em away from the lad!" Dwalin barked, his voice sharp.

The raven-haired dwarf tore his hand away from the smaller's. "Climb, Bilbo. Climb as high as you can without risking a fall. Do you understand?"

The hobbit shook, terrified.

"Bilbo, do you understand?" Thorin demanded, his voice laced with menace towards the wolves.

The hobbit squeaked before shimming up the trunk. His little body climbed nimbly up the tree limbs. His large feet and small hands curling around each branch expertly and supportively.

Thorin turned around and gave Dwalin a pointed look. The tattooed dwarf nodded and they both began to leave. Bilbo stopped climbing and looked out at them, his eyes wide with terror. He began to slide back down the tree.

"Dah!"

Thorin stopped and turned around. He glared at the little fauntling. It sent tremors through Bilbo's body. The raven haired dwarf had never looked at him that way before.

"Stay, Master Baggins. I promise you we _will _come back for you."

The child nodded numbly.

Both Thorin and Dwalin left without hesitation. Bilbo was left to climb the tree. His entire body shook with fear. What if they left him like his Mama and Papa did? This time there would be no one to look after him. He would be utterly alone.

_Stay, Master Baggins. I promise you we _will_ come back for you_.

And the fauntling held onto those words like his life depended on them. He didn't want to be alone again. Not again.

Thorin and Dwalin's footsteps pounded through the forest, hopefully drawing the wolves' attention away from the hobbit in the tree.

"He'll be alright, Thorin." Dwalin huffed reassuringly.

"I know that." Thorin growled, his fist tight around his sword.

The leader skidded to a stop, drawing said weapon. "This is far enough that we shouldn't have to worry about them being close to Bilbo, but close enough should…"

Thorin trailed off.

Dwalin didn't need him to finish the sentence: s_hould Bilbo need their help. Mahal the boy is only five! _Nothing better happen to that hobbit, or he would be using the wolves' damn blasted tails as torches.

They both took their stances. And the wolves poured in after that. Dwalin took advantage of the first wolf. It had not been expecting its prey to be armed and was easily susceptible to Dwalin's hammer. Thorin got a good look at the creature before he realized it was and _'Abad Kha'i_—a Mountain Wolf. It's larger than norm body, long saber-like fangs, and dark black pelt gave away its identity almost immediately.

"Form up!" Thorin bellowed.

Both he and Dwalin pressed their backs up against each other. The other wolves formed a circle around the two dwarves. The fresh scent of blood wrenching at their noses, warning them of the potential threat of their easy hunt. The _'Abad_ _Khai _tightened their circle, snapping their jaws at the ankles and feet of the two. Tolerating none of that, the two spun their weapons in a neat military fashion, forming a perimeter around their bodies by warding off the unwanted jaws of the wolves.

As much as he wanted to, Thorin did not pay much mind to Dwalin. His focus was on his own sword and the worthy opponents of each _Kha'i _in front of him. Every time a _Kha'i _jumped at him he would either injure it by sticking it in the leg or slicing at its jugular because he was running out of options. If he could get away with simply injuring the _'Abad Khai, _then fine—he wasn't one for killing animals. But, he also didn't want wolves tracking them on the rest of their journey to Ered Lûin. So if some of the beasts were unwavering in their attack, then he would not be squeamish for killing the _Khai_. Besides, he had a son to protect.

_Wait…son? _Thorin thought with alarm.

So distracted by that thought, he barely caught it when one particular wolf leapt at him, he raised his sword to skewer it. But another one jumped from his side and thrust its teeth deep into his arm. The dwarf couldn't help the bellowing scream that tore from his chest. The wolf's teeth dug deep.

Bilbo's ears pricked up as he heard the scream tear across the forest.

"Dah." He whispered, his voice shaking.

Thorin never screamed. He was a brave dwarf who stared down everything he didn't like until it was forced into submission. And if that didn't work, he pounded their thick skulls into pudding so that way they couldn't help but agree. At least, those were the vibes that Bilbo got from the dwarf. But Thorin, never ever screamed.

Bilbo scurried down the tree as fast as he could. When he got to the last branch, he paused. It was an awful long way down, and if he jumped now, he wouldn't be able to reach the branch to climb back up. Looking around he noticed there were a few trees with branches low enough he could climb if needed. Grabbing the branch with both hands, he swung down until he was dangling. Even then he was hesitant. Thorin had promised he would return. So, perhaps…

_No, Dah needs help._ Bilbo reminded himself.

So with a quick swing, he landed on the ground with a thud. Shaking himself off, Bilbo tiptoed over the grass and towards the direction as quickly as possible. A snarling growl made him freeze in his steps. Turning around he noticed a large, incredibly huge and most likely dangerous wolf, growling and drooling. The hobbit's eyes widened and the wolf pounced forward. Bilbo dove out of the way, the beast's sharp claws raking through his small little arm. The stench of blood, his own blood, pulled at Bilbo's nose; it made his eyes water.

The wolf seemed to smile, before lifting its nose up and sounding out a long howl. Bilbo took that as his moment of opportunity before jumping into the closest tree possible. The bad thing was, the tree he had chosen had one branch he could reach—the lowest branch. The other branches, even on the one already, were far out of his reach. Using his arms and legs, Bilbo tried to wiggle his way up the trunk, but the wood was not harsh and dry but smooth. Judging but the scratches in the bark, deer had recently come by and used the tree to scratch their antlers.

Toadstools.

Bilbo shrieked as the large wolf jumped up, its body slamming against the tree. His grip on the trunk failed and he slipped back onto the branch. The wolf snarled, before jumping up again, its nose barely scraping to bottom of Bilbo's tree limb. The fauntling stood up and pressed himself against the trunk, trying to keep his ridiculously large feet from dangling over the limb. His tiny lip trembled in mortification as more wolves jumped out of the forest and towards his tree. They began to take turns jumping, snapping at the branch and trying to get him to lose his balance. He was easy prey because he _was not_ armed.

So Bilbo did the only thing that could possibly save his life again. He screamed.

Thorin slashed at the next wolf when he realized that most of them were retreating back into the woods. Dwalin was grinning victoriously, raising his hammer into the air and thundering a challenge. Thorin braced his hands on his knees, his arm feeling pained and splintered.

"We showed 'em a thin' or two, eh, Thorin?" Dwalin rumbled.

"I suppose." Thorin huffed, standing up again.

His blood iced as a shrill scream pierced the forest. Thorin gave one look to Dwalin before racing off through the woods. That was Bilbo's scream. The raven haired dwarf tore through the woods, he had to get to his hobbit.

_Mahal, please let him be okay. _Thorin begged.

He kept running until he reached a place where quite a few _'Abad Khai_, at least six, were gathered. As he just approached, a particularly large _Kha'i _jumped up and snagged onto the branch where Bilbo was quivering in. Bilbo looked up into Thorin's eyes just one second before the limb snapped and Bilbo fell into the fray of wolves.

"No!"

Thorin pushed for another bout of speed before all but barreling into three of the _Khai._

"Stay away from him!" Thorin roared thunderously,

He stood in front of Bilbo, his sword raised defensively. The raven haired dwarf gave each _Kha'i _a calculating look. He knew he would not buy much time, him having left Dwalin behind—but he could provide some time for the fauntling to escape.

"Bilbo, when I tell you to, you run." Thorin breathed lowly, his eyes still focused on the wolves.

"But—"

"No, you must trust me Bilbo."

Bilbo grabbed the fringe of fur at the end of Thorin's coat before nodding. The sun was almost up, he noticed. Wolves didn't like sunlight, they were nocturnal creatures. Perhaps…

"Now!"

Thorin lunged forward with a mighty bellow, his sword swing fast and hard. The sharp, dwarven blade pierced the belly of one wolf, sending it to the ground. After that, it was spun around in a manner that one would use as a mace, and bashed a _Kha'i _on the head. Another was rendered headless, its body falling like a felled tree. But one wolf immediately caught the action and jumped up over the blow. He forced Thorin squarely to his feet. Bilbo stopped running and gaped in horror, finding himself totally immobile. There was Thorin, flat on his back with a wolf about to tear his face off.

Thorin's eyes widened flicked to where the hobbit had been. He searched among the woods until his eye landed on the fauntling. They widened when he realized that the child was still in the immediate vicinity of the _'Abad Khai._

"Run, Bilbo, run!"

The _'Abad Khai_ all turned their focus to the Halfling who was still there. Only then did Bilbo seem to snap out of his trance and he took off like a rabbit. The wolves dove after him, except for the one that was on Thorin's chest; that one seemed content with its meal. Thorin struggled under the weight of the creature until he was able to force his hands underneath its paws. With a surge of strength, he shot upwards, pushing the creature forwards. With a furious yap, the wolf lunged and bit Thorin squarely on the shoulder. The dwarf king bellowed and bunched the beast with his fist, trying to push it off. The _Kha'i_ refused. Little rivulets of blood trickled over his armor and clothes. For Bilbo's sake, he tried to get the blasted creature off him.

And suddenly the wolf's ears shot up. A cackling laugh filled the forest floor and the wolf froze. Thorin took his chance and shoved the wolf off him. The _Kha'i_ didn't seem to mind. It lifted its nose to the air and sniffed wildly, frantically even. Another cackling sound, although it sounded more like a banshee's shriek filled the air. The wolf's tail rose into alert and its ears perfectly erect. The sun began to rise, lighting the world up and giving the sky a baby blue tinge; this made the wolf all the more nervous. It took one look at Thorin, one at the direction of the noise before skittering away. Whatever it was gave five more trill screeches before falling silent. Thorin snatched his sword up and stood into a defensive position. Several branches snapped and popped and he was prepared to meet the worst. What he wasn't prepared for was a Bilbo who was smiling grimly. The toddler was clutching his right arm, but he walked straight up to Thorin and pressed his forehead against the adult's thigh.

"Dah." He sobbed.

Thorin scooped up the toddler, shushing him. "Hush Bilbo, we are not safe yet. Come we need to find Dwalin and we _need _to leave."

Bilbo clutched onto the dwarf's neck, wrapping his arms around him tightly. He mumbled into Thorin's neck. Thorin ran again, his feet as quiet as he could make them while he searched for Dwalin. He and the taller dwarf practically crashed into each other.

"Some o' the _Khai _came back, I finished 'em off. Then I heard a ghost's scream an'…well, I had ta come as quickly as I could."

"I'm fine Dwalin." Thorin eased.

"The lad's arm!" Dwalin exclaimed.

Thorin nodded. "I know, but right now, we need to get somewhere safer."

"Agreed."

Hefting the hobbit child so he was more comfortable, both dwarves ran until their feet could not carry them anymore. Both Dwalin and Thorin sagged to the ground, their breath heaving.

"I have not run like that in a long time." Thorin gasped.

"I haven't ever run like that."

The dwarf king gave him a wry grin. "I can think of a few times. Remember Moyra and her father?"

"Shut yer trap." Dwalin grumbled, handing Thorin a water skin.

The raven haired dwarf nodded gratefully before uncurling the hobbit who was clutching onto him tightly. Bilbo reluctantly complied as Thorin sat him on his knee. Taking the little one's arm gently, he tugged off the torn coat and folded back Bilbo's shirt sleeve. He winced at the long gash that was on the little boy's arm.

"This is going to hurt, Bilbo." Thorin warned quietly.

"I know."

The dwarf's heart splintered. Dwalin scooted over and pat the little boy's head as Thorin cleaned the wood. Bilbo stifled the tears as best as he could, but eventually he ended up bawling, his eyes squeezed shut and his little fists balling. Dwalin and Thorin hummed a song they both knew, and hoped would calm down the fauntling. He stopped yelping but he didn't stop the tears that leaked down his face. Thorin took the bandages that Dwalin had retrieved from one of the packs and tied them around Bilbo's arm. Once he was done, he scrolled Bilbo's shirt sleeve back over, and put the coat back on.

"Bilbo." He whispered darkly. "How did the wolves find you?"

The hobbit child looked away, his eyes filling with shame.

"Lad," Dwalin warned.

Thorin held up a hand to Dwalin. He gently reached out and grabbed Bilbo's chin, making the child look at him. He tried to keep his expression stern and not pitying.

"Master Baggins," he stated seriously. "How did the wolves find you?"

Bilbo's lips trembled. "Looking."

"Looking for what?"

"You."

Thorin shut his eyes, forcing his irritation back down his throat. "Did I not promise you that I would return for you, Master Baggins?"

Dwalin's eyes flickered, warning him to proceed carefully. He recognized the title Thorin had bestowed for the fauntling whenever he was 'in trouble'. Thorin never truly got mad at the child, though. It just wasn't possible for him.

Bilbo hummed.

"Then why did you leave the tree if I made such a promise?"

"Mama and Papa made promise once, too. But they left me."

Dwalin cursed softly and Thorin sucked in his breath. Of course, Bilbo would've been afraid that they weren't going to come back. The child had recently suffered the trauma of losing his parents, and he had been scared again. Scared that he and Dwalin would not return for him and leave even though they had promised that they could be together.

Thorin sighed and drew the child into a quick hug before pulling back. "I understand Bilbo, but do you know what would've happened to me if the wolves had…had gotten to you first?"

"You'd be…sad?" Bilbo guessed weakly.

"I'd be very sad, Bilbo. Very sad indeed."

That was all the prompting the child need before lunging himself at Thorin and tackling the older dwarf with a fierce hug. Thorin embraced Bilbo just as tightly. The attack by the _'Abad Khai_ had been a surprise, one he did not wish to encounter again.

"Bilbo, when I told you to run." Thorin continued, knowing that this too had to be covered. "You did not. You cannot freeze like that, your life may depend on your sense of flight. If you cannot flee, your enemy may very well get you. Do you understand?"

Bilbo pulled away from him, and looked up with round hazel eyes. "Yes, Thorin."

Satisfied, the raven haired dwarf exhaled with relief, before cocking his brow.

"Bilbo, those noises that scared off the wolf, was that you?"

The fauntling offered a sheepish grin. "Yes."

"Laddie, that scared me!" Dwalin piped up. "What in the name o' Mahal was that noise?"

"There's a fox family that lives near Bag End." Bilbo explained softly. "Otho, well…he, wanted to play with his new slingshot. He hit the baby fox."

"Is Otho your brother?" Thorin asked crestfallen although thinking, _we're too far—can't return him now._

"Nope, cousin. I don't want him to be, but he is." Bilbo answered before continuing. "When the mama found out, she made those noses. Papa and I…"

Both Thorin and Dwalin blanched.

But Bilbo continued. "Papa and I go out sometimes for listening to animal noises. He liked to copy them. I can copy them too!"

"The noises you made, were the noises you heard a mother fox make once?" Thorin asked, making sure he heard right.

"Mhm." Bilbo sighed solemnly. "She made the noises 'cause her baby sleeps now."

Thorin blinked before reaching out to stroke Bilbo's hair.

"_Amad Thurkhkhai." _Dwalin murmured. "The wolves knew the dangers of a grieving mother."

"Indeed." Thorin nodded.

Bilbo yawned.

With a sigh, Thorin clutched Bilbo to his chest. "Time for your nap; you've had plenty of excitement and it is not even noon."

"Arm hurts." Bilbo complained.

"It will be so for a while." Thorin answered.

Bilbo nodded and cuddled once again within the safe furs of Thorin's coat. Both he and Dwalin waited until he was asleep to continue moving on after their rest. Reaching out for his pack, Thorin unbuckled the flap and gently put Bilbo in the sack, leaving the top flap open. The child look vaguely like a newborn dwarfling. As carefully as he could, he drew the travel sack onto his back, as Dwalin did his own, and they both began walking again.

"How's yer arm?" Dwalin asked, an eyebrow raised skeptically.

"Fine," Thorin returned offhandedly.

"What's on yer mind?" Dwalin huffed. "Aside from the obvious."

"I think we've found the Khuzdul name for Bilbo."

Dwalin raised his eyebrows in unease. "A Khuzdul name, Thorin?"

The raven haired dwarf nodded. "I won't tell him until he is older, after he has learned our language and when he is able to understand the meaning of a secret."

"Yer serious." The other dwarf growled.

The raven haired dwarf glowered at the inked one. "Yes. After today, I think Bilbo has a right to it. He saved me."

"Ye would've been fine." Dwalin snorted.

"He is _five, _Dwalin!" Thorin snarled. "He could have died, but he risked his life for me…and for you. I think we can trust this boy."

"An' think ye should jus' name him yer son already." Dwalin snapped.

Thorin shot him the ugliest frown.

They both held an awkward silence for a bit, before Dwalin crossed his arms. "So what is it?"

"Pardon?"

The other refrained from rolling his eyes.

"What Khuzdul name has been inspired by you?"

"I was thinking _Mimel Thurkhkhai_." Thorin whispered.

Dwalin tilted his head in thought. "It certainly is appropriate."

"I thought so too."

"Given that we've seen grown hobbits too, I'm thinkin' the name fits. An' it has a certain fierceness about it."

Thorin nodded.

Dwalin inclined his head in approval. "Littlest Fox, it's not bad Thorin. Ye might be good at this father thing yet."

Thorin offered his friend a punch to the side and a small smile.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7:

It was the color that drew Bilbo away first.

All day he had been clinging to Thorin's hand, and simply walking quietly along. Both Dwalin and Thorin had known better than to make any remark on the boy's actions. The past month had not been a pleasant one for the little fauntling. First he was separated from his parents, who were killed. Then he was put into an orphanage that ended up being a slave-trade stop. He was beaten, rescued, and then chased down by wolves.

So when the little hobbit slipped his fingers from Thorin's large hand to go play in a field of wildflowers, the older dwarf didn't mind. But at that moment, Bilbo seemed to realize that running off had gotten him stuck in this endeavor in the first place. Before his big hobbit feet could carry him any further, he came to a screeching halt. Dwalin sent the hobbit a queer look.

"What is it, lad?"

Bilbo gave a small whimper.

Thorin crouched down next to Bilbo. "You may go and play for a bit, if you wish."

"Come with me." The hobbit whispered, lacing his fingers back into the large hand of Thorin.

The raven-haired dwarf looked at Dwalin. "We can rest for a bit."

"Aye, sounds fine by me." The tattooed one nodded, dropping his pack onto the ground with a thud.

Then he too sat down. He stretched out his long legs on the soft grass, eyes looking forward. A bright grin stretched across Dwalin's face. Thorin titled his head to the side, wondering why the other was smiling so suddenly.

"Look yonder." Dwalin laughed.

Thorin looked to the direction that his companion was pointing in, to see the huge expanse of mountains that they had been going towards for the past week. It was closer than ever before and now it was practically nose to nose with them.

"Ered Lûin." Thorin whispered, a grin spreading across his features. "How long has it been Dwalin? A few months since we've last been here?"

The younger dwarf barked out a teasing laugh. "Och, now I see why ye lose yer way all the time. Ye can't tell the time fer yer life."

The other dwarf looked unamused.

"Thorin, it's been 'bout fiver…er, six years since we've been in those mountains."

"Five or six?"

"I'm thinkin' six."

Thorin looked terrified for a moment before running a nervous hand through his hair. "She's going to kill me."

"Who, Dís?" Dwalin chuckled. "Nah, she'll probably jus' beat ye, since ye've got the lad an' all."

Thorin looked down at Bilbo who was still clutching his hand tightly. The little hobbit was looking wistfully at the field of brightly colored mountain flowers. It was rare that such a meadow would exist so close the foothills. Clearly they were at the peak of their short season. The mountain temperature grew frigid early on, and it was hard for such blossoms to last a full spring or summer season.

"We will continue this conversation later." Thorin rumbled, before swinging his arm playfully for the hobbit. "Come Bilbo. You seem intrigued by the mountain flowers."

The hobbit fauntling nodded eagerly before trying to tug the older dwarf along with him.

"I'm coming, I'm coming." He chuckled, allowing the small boy to pull him.

Bilbo was practically shivering with joy as they entered the tall wildflowers. He quickly unlaced his fingers from Thorin's and began spinning around in the billowing plants. The wind was blowing hard as it often does on the mountain plains. Bilbo outstretched his arms, his dirty coat flowing like a cape behind him. A squeak came out from him as he began spinning around, his head tilted up towards the sun. To Thorin, this seemed almost uncharacteristic of the tiny Halfling; being that the boy had spent most of their trip quiet. The older dwarf smiled warmly, watching the boy collapse in a small heap in the flowers. They seemed to bend over him in a protective manner.

"Dizzy." Bilbo giggled.

Thorin leaned over to little boy. "Well, you were spinning in circles."

"Flowers are fun." Bilbo continued his hands covering his eyes.

"Are they?" Thorin looked at the orange, pink, and red plants.

Bilbo hummed contentedly. "They're like…"

Thorin's happy demeanor slowed. "Like what, Bilbo?"

"Like Mama's garden."

Thorin pursed his lips. _Of course. _"Then your mother had a beautiful garden."

Bilbo's sad mood lightened immediately. "Mama's garden is the best in all of the Shire!"

Thorin grinned a bit. "Oh?"

"Umhm." The fauntling nodded. "She has roses, daffydils, chrysth-th-thimurmurs, ponies, and…and daisies!"

The dwarf chuckled. "Quite a lot of flowers."

"Mhm! When we get home…can I have a garden?"

Thorin started at the question. "A garden?"

"Umhm. One like Mama's."

"I don't…I don't see why not."

Bilbo practically threw himself at Thorin. "Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!"

Thorin stroked Bilbo's downy hair. "You're quite welcome, Bilbo."

"Can we play a game?" Bilbo asked, pulling out of the hug to look Thorin in the eyes.

The dwarf titled his head. "I don't see why not. What games do hobbits play?"

"Bullroarer!" Bilbo squealed delightedly, squirming out of Thorin's hold.

Thorin's eyes widened considerably as he did not know what exactly a 'Bullroarer' was.

Bilbo finally was able wiggle out of the raven-haired's embrace. He scrambled around the ground for a bit before he picked up a small stick. Thorin gave it a questioning look. That is, until Bilbo started swinging it around like a sword.

"You'll never catch me, Gobble King!" The hobbit shrieked with a huge impish smile spread across his face.

Thorin smirked. "I do believe you mean Goblin King."

"I'm Bullroarer Took! I'll chop off your head, Gobble King!" Bilbo continued, completely ignoring Thorin's correction.

The dwarf king snickered. "Well, _Bullroarer Took_, you will have to defeat me first."

That was all the permission Bilbo needed. With a high-pitched shriek, the little hobbit jumped Thorin. The dwarf staggered back as the fauntling attacked him with a stick. With a playful roar, Thorin lunged forward trying to grab the boy.

"You dare attack the Goblin King?" He demanded with a smile.

"I'll chop your head off!" Bilbo laughed, dancing out of the way of Thorin's hands.

"You can never have my head!" Thorin growled, making a grab for Bilbo again. He did his best to swallow down the memories of Azog.

Bilbo simply avoided Thorin's hands again; for a child, he was quick—very quick.

"Addercop, addercop, just won't stop!" Bilbo chirped, thwacking the dwarf's arm with his stick.

"Oh, you've done it now boy!" Thorin roared, grabbing Bilbo into a huge bear hug.

Bilbo squealed gleefully. "No!"

"You can never escape me."

"Mister Dwalin! Help me! The Gobble King wants to eat me!" Bilbo cried out as Thorin blew a raspberry on the boy's cheek.

"No one will come to your aid, Bull—ow!" Thorin snapped his head back as Dwalin whacked his friend's head with a stick.

"I'll be takin' back my friend now." Dwalin snarled playfully as he plucked Bilbo from Thorin's arms.

The tattooed dwarf was wielding two sticks, Thorin noticed. The bastard. Rubbing his head, Thorin pulled himself up to his full height. He drew in every ounce of his kingly air.

"You dare summon one of your warriors against me?" He demanded.

Dwalin looked down upon the boy. "What d'ye say lad, can we take 'im?"

Bilbo gave a determined look at the raven haired dwarf before raising with his little stick with a yell. Then, using his big feet, he ran in the other direction of Thorin, screaming at the top of his lungs. Both dwarves looked confusedly at each other. Dwalin seemed the more taken aback.

"That was…unexpected."

Thorin blinked. "I…did I do something wrong?"

"No I think yer fine."

"Then what—"

With a sudden yell, Bilbo appeared from behind Thorin and made a grand jump for his back. He used his small stick to hold on to the big dwarf's back as his arms wrapped around his neck.

"I've got you!" Bilbo cheered.

Thorin pretended to make a dying noise. "Oh…oh no!"

"Get 'im Bilbo! Get the sorry bastard!" Dwalin shouted encouragingly.

Thorin shot the other dwarf a warning look.

Dwalin made an attempt to look sheepish. "Get the sorry _bachelor, _is what I mean'.

"Ugh, much better!" Thorin choked out sardonically, as he fell to one knee.

Bilbo laughed.

"Oh no…I'm dying…I'm dying…I'm dead." And with an undignified grunt, he fell face flat onto the ground.

Dwalin gave an amused chuckle.

Bilbo furrowed his brow worriedly, and scooted up further on Thorin's back.

"Thorin?"

The raven haired dwarf did not answer.

Bilbo's chest heaved painfully. "Dah?"

Thorin still did not answer.

The hobbit shook the dwarf's shoulder. "You're not dead…right Dah?"

The dwarf king cracked his blue eyes open just a bit. "No Bilbo, I'm not dead."

"Yay. I won?"

"Yes you won."

Bilbo gave a cheer, before squeaking indignantly as Thorin got up. The older dwarf's arm swept back to support the Halfling while he stood. Bilbo's arms wrapped around the dwarf's neck automatically. Dwalin laughed again, dropping his sticks to the ground.

"Two sticks, Dwalin? Really?" Thorin snorted.

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "Let's get some lunch, aye?"

Bilbo bounced excitedly from Thorin's back. "Lunch! I want lunch!"

"It sounds as though our hobbit is hungry." Thorin chuckled.

"Then we best feed 'im." Dwalin guffawed. "That hobbit is scary when 'e's hungry."

"Rawr." Bilbo giggled.

Thorin hefted Bilbo. "Then we best get some food."

Together they walked back to their packs and sat down to eat their lunch. The sun's light shimmered warmly down on them, and by the time that they had finished their meal, Bilbo had already curled up on Thorin's lap for his nap. The raven haired dwarf shifted so he could get a bit more comfortable before he rested his hand on the small back of the hobbit.

"Ye really look like yer used ta this, Thorin." Dwalin observed, packing away the leftovers.

"Thank Mahal I had Fíli to practice on." Thorin chuckled.

"Aye, but still, ye look as if ye've been parentin' 'im fer all his life." Dwalin said.

Thorin hefted the child. "Really?"

"Aye. 'Haps it was destiny fer ye ta meet that lil' boy." Dwalin smiled. "Ne'er seen ye happier."

"Fíli is my heir and I love him like a son but…this is different. Bilbo is different."

"Aye. Yer as close ta a parent that 'e's got. Fíli's at least got his mam."

"Mahal. Dís' other child has been born already, huh?"

"Considerin' the last time we saw her was six—"

"Five."

"—six years ago. Aye, that baby she was gonna 'ave is probably already five years old."

"He'll be as old as Bilbo." Thorin noted absentmindedly.

"The lad'll 'ave a playmate, then." Dwalin nodded.

Thorin sighed. "She'll kill me for not being there for her child."

"Well, we were doin' things." Dwalin admitted. "Doubt that'll mean much ta her, but we were collectin' coin ta help support 'em."

"I hope Dís will see it that way."

"Well, you'll be bringin' Bilbo home too. I'm sure she'll understand with the boy."

Thorin smiled and nodded before frowning. "Do you think they'll accept him?"

"Whether they like it or not, their king chose 'im." Dwalin stated thoughtfully, scratching his beard. "And, well… bein' as though ye've adopted the lad, 'e's like yer son."

Thorin's furrowed brow softened.

"My son." He whispered, and then he gave victorious grin to his tattooed friend. "And I didn't even have to get married."

Dwalin rolled his eyes. "Fer the love o' Mahal, Thorin."

The black haired dwarf just grinned cheekily.

"Right well, let's get a move on." Dwalin snorted, standing abruptly. "We can reach the front gates by the evenin' if we move."

"Sound's good." Thorin said, setting Bilbo down to shoulder his pack.

Once that was safely on his back, he grabbed the sleeping fauntling, holding him lightly. Dwalin tried to suppress his growing smile but failed miserably. Thorin didn't mind, why would he? He wanted to help this little hobbit who'd had traumatizing experiences, and if that meant being more emotional and well…not Thorin like, then fine. He could live with that.

The two dwarves eagerly began their final trek. Both of them hummed a few songs or sang a few shanties they knew. Bilbo stayed asleep, carefully tucked up against Thorin's chest. Occasionally the boy would hum or whimper and Thorin would be right there with a steady, soothing hand to the child's back.

"Oi, Thorin." Dwalin said suddenly, at some-point before sunset.

"Hm?"

"Yer our leader, right?"

Thorin frowned, not sure where this was going. "Yes."

Dwalin nodded. "Then we need ta get ye to learn how ta tell time. The gate guards 'ave probably been expectin' us fer years."

Thorin grimaced. If he wasn't holding Bilbo, he would've smacked his friend across the back of his head. "I doubt it's been years."

"Ye told Dís ye'd be back in a few months."

"And it was a few months."

"Quite a few."

"Shut up, Dwalin."

The tattooed dwarf sniggered. "I lied. Yer goin' ta be in so much trouble when we get inside."

Thorin winced but said nothing as they continued to walk up the sloping landscape.

"Dah?" Bilbo mumbled sleepily.

"You up?"

Bilbo gave a tiny yawn before looking around. He saw the forest behind them. The two older dwarves were walking towards the huge mountains. A large gate looming ahead of them. The hobbit cocked his head to the side. Then he looked at Thorin with large, curious hazel eyes.

Thorin ruffled the boy's curly brown hair. "Welcome to Ered Lûin, Bilbo."

"Home?" The boy asked quietly.

Thorin nodded. "Home."

Bilbo smiled and wiggled, trying to get out of the dwarf's arms so he could walk himself. Thorin obligingly set him down. Bilbo's large, bootless feet landed on the ground, crunching the rock and gravel. It took Bilbo a minute for his feet to adjust to the rocky ground, but he was able to do so quickly. With a grin, and his hand threaded in Thorin's, he walked on.

It wasn't long before two dwarvish horns sounded, announcing the news of arrival. If it had been any dwarf, they probably would've sounded the drums. But their king was returning. It was high time to give him an open welcome.

Thorin winced. "She'll meet us before I even get to my house."

Dwalin only chuckled.

"Who?" Bilbo cooed.

The guards at the front gates, opened the large rock doors. Both Dwalin and Thorin breathed in the refreshing smell of cool mountain stone as it bombarded them. Bilbo wrinkled his nose; the air smelled stale.

"My sister." Thorin answered, after a while of appreciating the smells of home. _Might as well enjoy it while I can._

"My auntie?" Bilbo wondered.

Thorin laughed nervously. "Yes, but you might want to wait before you call her that. She doesn't know she has a nephew."

"Okay." The hobbit peeped.

The dwarves who were milling about greeted the returning dwarves eagerly, although they sent wary, suspicious looks towards Bilbo. Thorin only tightened his grip on the fauntling's hand. He did not like the way they were staring. But of course, he didn't get the chance to think much on it.

"Thorin!" A voice roared.

Thorin closed his eyes and pursed his lips before handing Bilbo to Dwalin. The hobbit gave a squeak of protest, but Thorin looked at him sternly. Bilbo nodded and hid behind the tattooed dwarf's leg. With a pained sigh, Thorin looked up to see the approaching raven haired dwarrowdam. Her blue skirts of her dress swirling around her legs in a flurry. Her long locks of black braids flew behind her like a mane. A few beads decorated her healthy fluffy beard. Her bright blue eyes burned angrily. She came to a halting stop in front of the two male dwarves.

"Hello Dís." Thorin grinned anxiously.

The female looked him up and down before bring her arm up and slapping him swiftly across the cheek. Thorin grunted and stumbled back a bit. The woman crossed her arms and stared at him murderously.

"You didn't write!" She yelled angrily. "And you left me and the boys alone for six years without a single word! Six years, Thorin!"

Dwalin grinned smugly. Bilbo tried not to cry.

"What do you have to say for yourself, you blockhead?" Dís demanded.

"I'm really, truly sorry?" Thorin offered weakly.

Another slap.

"I thought you were dead!"

"Surprise?"

Slap.

Thorin rubbed his stinging cheek. "You really must learn another way to communicate with me other than violence."

"Mahal, I can't believe you!" Dís bellowed.

Thorin grinned again. "That's shocking. Many people find me trustworthy."

His sister growled.

"Stop!" A shrill voice yelled.

Dwalin, Thorin and Dís looked down in surprise. Bilbo had managed to worm his way from Dwalin's grip without him knowing and was now tugging angrily at the dwarrowdam's skirts. Dís' blue eyes widened before looking to her brother incredulously. Bilbo pulled away immediately and stood defensively in front of Thorin. His brow was furrowed and his tiny lips drawn into a tight line. His arms were held out stiffly as if trying to block the dwarrowdam from the dwarf.

"Dís," Thorin said, "may I introduce you to Bilbo."

At his name, Bilbo gave up all facades of being a brave warrior and jumped up onto Thorin's torso. Then with only the capability that toddlers have, he crawled his way up to where he was wrapped around Thorin's head. Both Dwalin and Dís tried to bite back their laughter. Thorin spluttered indignantly and tried to see past Bilbo's arms.

"You can't hurt him." Bilbo snapped irritably, looking at Dís.

"Bilbo," Thorin gasped, blowing a flap of the little boy's coat out of his mouth, "she's always like this. I'm not in any danger."

"Aye little one." Dís agreed. "As much of a blockhead as my brother is, I wouldn't hurt him…much."

"Hitting people is mean." Bilbo growled furiously. "Meanie."

Dís looked affronted.

Dwalin looked as if he were going to have a heyday.

"Bilbo, get off of my face." Thorin growled.

"Nuh-uh."

"Now."

"Nope."

"Bilbo, this is my sister."

The hobbit's eyes widened, and looked at Dís with a bit of horror.

With a bit of mischief, Dís smiled, and gave a small bow. "A pleasure to meet you little one."

Bilbo slowly slid off of Thorin and hid behind the male dwarf's leg, peeking out shyly. Thorin rolled his eyes and looked behind him. He gave Bilbo a pointed look.

"Aren't you going to say hello?"

"Nope."

"Bilbo."

"Dah."

Dís stiffened.

Finally with a defeated look, Bilbo came out from behind Thorin. "I'm Bilbo Baggins of Bag End."

"Lady Dís at your service." She murmured numbly, before looking at her brother. "We need to talk."

Thorin sighed and nodded.

Dwalin coughed a bit awkwardly. "If ye don' mind, majesties, I'll take my leave now."

"Go on Dwalin, I will meet with you tomorrow." Thorin dismissed.

The tattooed dwarf nodded.

"Mister Dwalin?" Bilbo asked quietly.

The Dwalin reached over and tousled Bilbo's curls. "I'll see ye tomorrow, lad."

"M'kay." The hobbit answered unsurely.

Dwalin walked away quickly.

The next minute was Dís and Thorin standing awkwardly. Finally Dís sighed exasperatedly. Thorin looked at her expectantly.

"You're so emotionally constipated Thorin." She sighed.

Thorin winced.

"Come on, I've got a bit of stew cooking." Dís uttered, leading them deeper into the mountain.

"Sounds good." Thorin murmured, reaching down and picking up Bilbo.

The hobbit lad clung onto him with all his might.

Dís led them to the common dwellings, where houses were set up all around, stacked on top of each other like pueblos. Wearily, she unlocked the door to a larger one, and stepped inside. Thorin followed her.

"Fíli, I'm home." She called out.

Thorin looked up at soon as the blond child walked in. His big brown eyes looked up at the two adults and hobbits eagerly. The lit up immediately at recognition of the male dwarf.

"Uncle!" He greeted with a smile.

Thorin grinned. "Fíli."

"Amâd!" A voice cried, as a small brunette dwarfling rushed out and into the living area. He stopped at a sudden halt as he saw Thorin. His eyes widened and he hid behind Fíli. His little lip quivered. Thorin looked at Fíli and Dís with wide, surprised eyes.

"Go on, Kíli, say 'hi'." The blond urged. "This is our Uncle."

Kíli peeked out from behind his brother. "Hi."

Thorin smiled gently, kneeling down to one knee. "Hello Kíli, it's nice to finally meet you."

The brunette gave a nervous smile before his eyes darted to Bilbo. He cocked his head curiously at the sight of the hobbit. Bilbo in return, looked curiously at the dwarfling. It was a tense quiet for a second. Kíli was the first to speak, though.

"Why are your feet so big?"

Dís and Thorin sucked in their breath.

Bilbo looked offended, before storming his features. "Why are your feet too small?"

Fíli sucked in a sharp breath.

Kíli only smiled cheerfully. "I like you!"

Bilbo blinked in surprise.

"Do you wanna play?" Kíli asked excitedly.

Bilbo looked hesitant.

"I've got blocks!" The brunette added temptingly.

Bilbo looked to Thorin for permission. The raven-haired dwarf nodded. Bilbo grinned and wiggle out of the dwarf's grip. He stuck out his hand at the approach of Fíli.

"I'm Bilbo." He cheeped.

Fíli smirked. "Fíli."

They shook hands like civilized people until Kíli pushed his unassuming brother out of the way. He grabbed Bilbo's hand and shook it mightily, before dragging the fauntling away with happy chirps. Fíli followed grumbling.

"Make sure to get Bilbo a cup of soup, Fíli!" Dís called after them.

"Okay, Amâd." The blond called back.

Thorin took a minute to process everything before looking at the unamused Dís. "I suppose I have to explain things?"

"Aye, and you can do it before your supper too." She snapped.

It took a good two hours to tell his sister everything, in which, during that period of time she took pity on him and gave him a bowl of stew. He accepted it gratefully. By the end of his spiel, his third bowl of soup was long gone, and the candles were half way burned. The children who were in the other room playing, had gotten quiet long ago.

"It doesn't give you an excuse for not writing." Dís laughed slowly. "But I understand now."

Thorin inclined his head.

"Now about Bilbo, are you sure this is what you want?" She asked. "He's not a dwarf, and people'll treat him as such."

Thorin gave a warning glance to the adjacent room where the children were. "I know. But I have made my decision. When I see Balin next, I will ask him to draw up some papers for a legal adoption."

Dís nodded.

Thorin reclined in his chair.

"He seem nice." She finally admitted.

"He's trouble, I'll tell you that." Thorin groaned with a sleepy grin. "Ran off in search of fairies, got himself kidnapped, and then on top of that attacked by wolves."

Dís looked a bit thunderstruck.

"But he's a good lad." The dwarf yawned. "A very good lad."

Dís shook her head with a chuckle. "Come on. You're tired. I'll walk you and your boy back to your house."

Thorin stood up staggering. "No need, Dís. You have both your boys. I can manage to walk to the house over."

"All of your things are still there." She said.

The dwarf nodded before walking into the other room. He smiled at the sight. Bilbo and Kíli had fallen asleep on top of each other next to a set of scattered rock building blocks. Fíli was nodding off on the couch with a book upon his lap. The sight warmed Thorin's heart. If his nephews could accept their strange cousin, then maybe other dwarves could too. Walking over to them, he picked up the sleeping Bilbo as carefully as he could. He placed a light kiss to Kíli's forehead. Dís followed closely behind him and picked up her small son. He then walked to Fíli and kissed him on his cheek. Dís shook him awake.

"Come on, love." She cooed, "time for bed."

Fíli groaned but staggered sleepily.

Thorin nodded to his sister before leaving the room and then her house. The mountain air was cool and crisp. Lanterns lit the house row. He walked the house over, and fumbled for the key that was hidden inside a notch of the door. Once he found it, he unlocked it and stepped inside. His home smelled clean, and he probably had Dís to thank for that. His home was not as roomy as his sister's. His only had one room, his living area and then the kitchen. But that was all he needed. Walking slowly to his room, he settled the slumbering hobbit onto his bed. Then with a tiredness he had not realized he had, Thorin tugged off his coat and cloak and armor, laying them down on a chair near his bed. His weapons were shed as well. He kicked off his boots and socks. He then picked up Bilbo and gently prodded the fauntling awake. Bilbo moaned and sluggishly opened his eyes.

"Help me get you ready for bed." Thorin whispered.

Bilbo nodded drunkenly.

While nodding off, he and Thorin struggled his arms out of his coat. Then with care, Thorin unbuttoned the little gold waist coat and pulled it off, folding it in a neat pile with the hobbit's coat. He also took off Bilbo's suspenders so that way the fauntling could have better comfort asleep. He put the boy's clothes next to his own.

Bilbo had fallen back asleep a while ago, so Thorin set him down and pulled open the furs and covers of his bed. He crawled in before grabbing Bilbo and settling him on his chest as he had when they were traveling. Thorin then pulled the covers over the both of them.

The hobbits eyes blinked open sleepily for a bit.

"Will you sing a lullaby?" Bilbo whispered groggily.

"I don't know many." Thorin admitted sleepily.

"The one Mama used to sing." The hobbit pressed.

Thorin hummed. "The one about the bumblebee?"

"Umhm."

"Alright." The dwarf nodded, trying to recollect the words that the fauntling would sing to himself. "Only if you go to sleep, though."

"M'kay. Nighty night, Dah."

The raven haired, exile dwarf king laid his head back and looked up at the gray stone ceiling. The words finally came and he prepared his voice. Bilbo's eyes barely stayed open.

"_Hush my little bumble bee,_

_Hush my tiny dandelion,_

_Mama's gonna be right here,_

_She will always be near._

"_Quiet my roaring lion,_

_Quiet my howling wolf,_

_Papa will protect you,_

_Papa will always guide you._

"_Sleep my twinkling star,_

_Sleep my glowing moon,_

_Nothing can separate our love,_

_Nothing can separate us from you."_

And then the dwarf added his own verse.

"_Rest my little fox,_

_Rest my tiny prince,_

_I will stand beside you, _

_I will always guide you—_

_Your place will be with me."_

Thorin smiled, before resting his arm over the hobbit's back. "Goodnight, Bilbo."

The fauntling closed his eyes and snuggled onto his foster father's chest a bit more. Thorin closed his eyes and listened to the child's soft breaths. A peaceful smile graced his facial features.

"Goodnight _Mimel Thurkhkhai._"

• • •

Far over the valleys, in the Shire a worried hobbit mother kept a careful eye on the post. It had been a little over a month since she had last seen her son, and her temper was wearing thin. She had sent a letter out to a dear friend of hers seeking aid and had yet to get a reply.

Why was that wizard always so blasted late?


End file.
